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; 


VOLTAIRE 

CANDIDE 


WITH  TWENTY-SIX  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  PAUL  KLEE 


PANTHEON  BOOKS  INC.  NEW  YORK 


Grateful  acknowledgment  is  made  to  E.  P.  Dutton  & Co.,  Inc., 
New  York,  for  permission  to  reprint  Dr.  Smollett’s  translation  in  the 
special  revision  by  James  Thornton,  as  published  in  Everyman’s  Library. 


Manufactured  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


CONTENTS 


chapter  x.  How  Candide  Was  Brought  Up  in  a Magnificent  Castle,  and  How 


He  Was  Driven  from  Thence  y 

chapter  ii.  What  Befell  Candide  Among  the  Bulgarians  10 

chapter  hi.  How  Candide  Escaped  from  the  Bulgarians,  and  What  Befell 

Him  Afterwards  1 3 

chapter  iv.  How  Candide  Found  I lis  Old  Master  in  Philosophy,  Dr.  Pangloss, 

Again,  and  What  Happened  to  Them  16 

chapter  v.  A Tempest,  a Shipwreck,  an  Earthquake;  and  What  Else  Befell 

Dr.  Pangloss,  Candide,  and  James  the  Anabaptist  20 

chapter  vi.  How  the  Portuguese  Made  a Superb  Auto-da-Fé  to  Prevent  Any 

Future  Earthquakes,  and  How  Candide  Underwent  Public  Flagellation  23 

chapter  vu.  How  the  Old  Woman  Took  Care  of  Candide,  and  How  He 

Found  the  Object  of  His  Love  25 

chapter  viii.  The  History  of  Cunegund  28 

chapter  ix.  What  Happened  to  Cunegund,  Candide,  the  Grand  Inquisitor, 
and  the  Jew  31 

chapter  x.  In  What  Distress  Candide,  Cunegund,  and  the  Old  Woman 

Arrive  at  Cadiz;  and  of  Their  Embarkation  34 

chapter  xi.  The  History  of  the  Old  Woman  37 

chapter  xii.  The  Adventures  of  the  Old  Woman  Continued  40 

chapter  xiii.  How  Candide  Was  Obliged  to  Leave  the  Fair  Cunegund  and 

the  Old  Woman  44 

chapter  xiv.  The  Reception  Candide  and  Cacambo  Met  with  Among  the 
Jesuits  in  Paraguay 


47 


chapter  xv.  How  Candide  Killed  the  Brother  of  His  Dear  Cunegund  51 

chapter  xvi.  What  Happened  to  Our  Two  Travellers  with  Two  Girls,  Two 

Monkeys,  and  the  Savages,  Called  Oreillons  54 

chapter  xvii.  Candide  and  His  Serrant  Arrive  in  the  Country  of  El  Dorado. 

What  They  Saw  There  59 

chapter  xviii.  What  They  Smv  in  the  Country  of  El  Dorado  63 

chapter  xix.  What  Happened  to  Them  at  Surinam,  and  How  Candide 

Became  Acquainted  with  Martin  69 

chapter  xx.  What  Befell  Candide  and  Martin  on  Their  Voyage  74 

chapter  xxi.  Candide  and  Martin,  While  Thus  Reasoning  with  Each  Other, 

Draw  Near  to  the  Coast  of  France  77 

chapter  xxii.  What  Happened  to  Candide  and  Martin  in  France  79 

chapter  xxiii.  Candide  and  Martin  Touch  Upon  the  English  Coast;  What 

They  Saw  There  90 

chapter  xxiv.  Of  Pacquette  and  Friar  Giroflée  92 

chapter  xxv.  Candide  and  Martin  Pay  a Visit  to  Signor  Pococurante,  a Noble 

Venetian  97 

chapter  xxvi.  Candide  and  Martin  Sup  with  Six  Strangers ; and  Who  They 

Were  103 

chapter  xxvii.  Candide’ s Voyage  to  Constantinople  107 

chapter  xxviii.  What  Befell  Candide,  Cunegund,  Pangloss,  Martin,  &c.  111 

chapter  xxix.  In  What  Manner  Candide  Found  Cunegund  and  the  Old 

Woman  Again  114 

chapter  xxx.  Conclusion  116 


CHAPTER  I 


How  Candide  Was  Brought  Up  in  a Magnificent  Castle, 
and  How  He  Was  Driven  from  Thence 

In  the  country  of  Westphalia,  in  the  castle  of  the  most  noble  Baron  of  Thunder- 
ten-tronckh,  lived  a youth  whom  nature  had  endowed  with  a most  sweet  dis- 
position. His  face  was  the  true  index  of  his  mind.  He  had  a solid  judgment 
joined  to  the  most  unaffected  simplicity;  and  hence,  I presume,  he  had  his 
name  of  Candide.  The  old  servants  of  the  house  suspected  him  to  have  been 
the  son  of  the  Baron’s  sister,  by  a mighty  good  sort  of  a gentleman  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood, whom  that  young  lady  refused  to  marry,  because  he  could  produce 
no  more  than  threescore  and  eleven  quarterings  in  his  arms;  the  rest  of  the 
genealogical  tree  belonging  to  the  family  having  been  lost  through  the  injuries 
of  time. 

The  Baron  was  one  of  the  most  powerful  lords  in  Westphalia;  for  his  castle 
had  not  only  a gate,  but  even  windows;  and  his  great  hall  was  hung  with  tapestry. 
He  used  to  hunt  with  his  mastiffs  and  spaniels  instead  of  greyhounds;  his 

7 


groom  served  him  for  huntsman;  and  the  parson  of  the  parish  officiated  as 
grand  almoner.  He  was  called  “My  Lord”  by  all  his  people,  and  he  never  told 
a story  but  every  one  laughed  at  it. 

My  lady  Baroness  weighed  three  hundred  and  fifty  pounds,  consequently 
was  a person  of  no  small  consideration;  and  then  she  did  the  honours  of  the 
house  with  a dignity  that  commanded  universal  respect.  Her  daughter  Cune- 
gund  was  about  seventeen  years  of  age,  fresh  coloured,  comely,  plump,  and 
desirable.  The  Baron’s  son  seemed  to  be  a youth  in  every  respect  worthy  of  his 
father.  Pangloss  the  preceptor  was  the  oracle  of  the  family,  and  little  Can- 
dide listened  to  his  instructions  with  all  the  simplicity  natural  to  his  age  and 
disposition. 

Master  Pangloss  taught  the  metaphysico-theologo-cosmolo-nigology.  He 
could  prove  to  admiration  that  there  is  no  effect  without  a cause;  and  that,  in 
this  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  the  Baron’s  castle  was  the  most  magnificent  of 
all  castles,  and  my  lady  the  best  of  all  possible  baronesses. 

“It  is  demonstrable,”  said  he,  “that  things  cannot  be  otherwise  than  they 
are;  for  as  all  things  have  been  created  for  some  end,  they  must  necessarily  be 
created  for  the  best  end.  Observe,  for  instance,  the  nose  is  formed  for  spectacles, 
therefore  we  wear  spectacles.  The  legs  are  visibly  designed  for  stockings,  accord- 
ingly we  wear  stockings.  Stones  were  made  to  be  hewn,  and  to  construct  castles, 
therefore  my  lord  has  a magnificent  castle;  for  the  greatest  baron  in  the  province 
ought  to  be  the  best  lodged.  Swine  were  intended  to  be  eaten;  therefore  we 
eat  pork  all  the  year  round:  and  they  who  assert  that  everything  is  right  do  not 
express  themselves  correctly;  they  should  say,  that  everything  is  best.” 

Candide  listened  attentively,  and  believed  implicitly;  for  he  thought  Miss 
Cunegund  excessively  handsome,  though  he  never  had  the  courage  to  tell  her 
so.  He  concluded  that  next  to  the  happiness  of  being  Baron  of  Thunder- 
ten-tronckh,  the  next  was  that  of  being  Miss  Cunegund,  the  next  that  of  seeing 
her  every  day,  and  the  last  that  of  hearing  the  doctrine  of  Master  Pangloss,  the 
greatest  philosopher  of  the  whole  province,  and  consequently  of  the  whole 
world. 

One  day,  when  Miss  Cunegund  went  to  take  a walk  in  a little  neighbouring 
wood,  which  was  called  a park,  she  saw,  through  the  bushes,  the  sage  Doctor 
Pangloss  giving  a lecture  in  experimental  physics  to  her  mother’s  chamber- 
maid, a little  brown  wench,  very  pretty,  and  very  tractable.  As  Miss  Cunegund 
had  a great  disposition  for  the  sciences,  she  observed  with  the  utmost  attention 
8 


the  experiments  which  were  repeated  before  her  eyes;  she  perfectly  well  under- 
stood the  force  of  the  doctor’s  reasoning  upon  causes  and  effects.  She  retired 
greatly  flurried,  quite  pensive,  and  filled  with  the  desire  of  knowledge,  imagin- 
ing that  she  might  be  a sufficing  reason  for  young  Candide,  and  he  for  her. 

On  her  way  back  she  happened  to  meet  Candide;  she  blushed,  he  blushed 
also:  she  wished  him  a good  morning  in  a faltering  tone;  he  returned  the  salute, 
without  knowing  what  he  said.  The  next  day,  as  they  were  rising  from  dinner, 
Cunegund  and  Candide  slipped  behind  the  screen;  she  dropped  her  handker- 
chief, the  young  man  picked  it  up.  She  innocently  took  hold  of  his  hand,  and  he 
as  innocently  kissed  hers  with  a warmth,  a sensibility,  a grace— all  very  extraor- 
dinary; their  lips  met;  their  eyes  sparkled;  their  knees  trembled;  their  hands 
strayed.  The  Baron  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh  chanced  to  come  by;  he  beheld 
the  cause  and  effect,  and,  without  hesitation,  saluted  Candide  with  some 
notable  kicks  on  the  breech,  and  drove  him  out  of  doors.  Miss  Cunegund 
fainted  away,  and,  as  soon  as  she  came  to  herself,  the  Baroness  boxed  her  ears. 
Thus  a general  consternation  was  spread  over  this  most  magnificent  and  most 
agreeable  of  all  possible  castles. 


9 


CHAPTER  II 

W hat  Befell  Candide  Among  the  Bulgarians 

Candide,  thus  driven  out  of  this  terrestrial  paradise,  wandered  a long  time, 
without  knowing  where  he  went;  sometimes  he  raised  his  eyes,  all  bedewed 
with  tears,  towards  heaven,  and  sometimes  he  cast  a melancholy  look  towards 
the  magnificent  castle  where  dwelt  the  fairest  of  young  baronesses.  He  laid 
himself  down  to  sleep  in  a furrow,  heartbroken  and  supperless.  The  snow  fell 
in  great  flakes,  and,  in  the  morning  when  he  aw'oke,  he  was  almost  frozen  to 
death;  however,  he  made  shift  to  crawl  to  the  next  town,  winch  was  called 
Waldberghoff-trarbk-dikdorff,  without  a penny  in  his  pocket,  and  half  dead 
with  hunger  and  fatigue.  He  took  up  his  stand  at  the  door  of  an  inn.  He  had 
not  been  long  there,  before  two  men  dressed  in  blue  fixed  their  eyes  steadfastly 
upon  him. 


10 


“Faith,  comrade,”  said  one  of  them  to  the  other,  “yonder  is  a well-made 
young  fellow,  and  of  the  right  size.” 

Thereupon  they  made  up  to  Candide,  and  with  the  greatest  civility  and 
politeness  invited  him  to  dine  with  them. 

“Gentlemen,”  replied  Candide,  with  a most  engaging  modesty,  “you  do  me 
much  honour,  but,  upon  my  word,  I have  no  money.” 

“Money,  Sir!”  said  one  of  the  men  in  blue  to  him,  “young  persons  of  your 
appearance  and  merit  never  pay  anything;  why,  are  not  you  five  feet  five  inches 
high?” 

“Yes,  gentlemen,  that  is  really  my  size,”  replied  he,  with  a low  bow. 

“Come  then,  Sir,  sit  down  along  with  us;  we  will  not  only  pay  your  reckon- 
ing, but  will  never  suffer  such  a clever  young  fellow  as  you  to  want  money. 
Mankind  were  born  to  assist  one  another.” 

“You  are  perfectly  right,  gentlemen,”  said  Candide;  “that  is  precisely  the 
doctrine  of  Master  Pangloss;  and  I am  convinced  that  everything  is  for  the  best.” 

His  generous  companions  next  entreated  him  to  accept  of  a few  crowns, 
which  he  readily  complied  with,  at  the  same  time  offering  them  his  note  for 
the  payment,  which  they  refused,  and  sat  down  to  table. 

“Have  you  not  a great  affection  for ” 

“Oh  yes!”  he  replied,  “I  have  a great  affection  for  the  lovely  Miss  Cune- 
gund.” 

“May  be  so,”  replied  one  of  the  men,  “but  that  is  not  the  question!  We 
are  asking  you  whether  you  have  not  a great  affection  for  the  King  of  the  Bul- 
garians?” 

“For  the  King  of  the  Bulgarians?”  said  Candide.  “Not  at  all.  Why,  I 
never  saw  him  in  my  life.” 

“Is  it  possible!  Oh,  he  is  a most  charming  king!  Come,  we  must  drink 
his  health.” 

“With  all  my  heart,  gentlemen,”  Candide  said,  and  he  tossed  off  his  glass. 

“Bravo!”  cried  the  blues;  “you  are  now  the  support,  the  defender,  the  hero 
of  the  Bulgarians;  your  fortune  is  made;  you  are  on  the  high  road  to  glory.” 

So  saying,  they  put  him  in  irons,  and  carried  him  away  to  the  regiment. 
There  he  was  made  to  wheel  about  to  the  right,  to  the  left,  to  draw  his  ramrod, 
to  return  his  ramrod,  to  present,  to  fire,  to  march,  and  they  gave  him  thirty 
blows  with  a cane;  the  next  day  he  performed  his  exercise  a little  better,  and 


n 


they  gave  him  but  twenty;  the  day  following  he  came  off  with  ten,  and  was 
looked  upon  as  a young  fellow  of  surprising  genius  by  all  his  comrades. 

Candide  was  struck  with  amazement,  and  could  not  for  the  soul  of  him 
conceive  how  he  came  to  be  a hero.  One  fine  spring  morning,  he  took  it  into 
his  head  to  take  a walk,  and  he  marched  straight  forward,  conceiving  it  to  be  a 
privilege  of  the  human  species,  as  well  as  of  the  brute  creation,  to  make  use 
of  their  legs  how  and  when  they  pleased.  He  had  not  gone  above  two  leagues 
when  he  was  overtaken  by  four  other  heroes,  six  feet  high,  who  bound  him 
neck  and  heels,  and  carried  him  to  a dungeon.  A court-martial  sat  upon  him, 
and  he  was  asked  which  he  liked  best,  either  to  run  the  gauntlet  six  and  thirty 
times  through  the  whole  regiment,  or  to  have  his  brains  blown  out  with  a 
dozen  musket-balls.  In  vain  did  he  remonstrate  to  them  that  the  human  will 
is  free,  and  that  he  chose  neither;  they  obliged  him  to  make  a choice,  and  he 
determined,  in  virtue  of  that  divine  gift  called  free  will,  to  run  the  gauntlet 
six  and  thirty  times.  He  had  gone  through  his  discipline  twice,  and  the  regi- 
ment being  composed  of  two  thousand  men,  they  composed  for  him  exactly 
four  thousand  strokes,  which  laid  bare  all  his  muscles  and  nerves,  from  the 
nape  of  his  neck  to  his  rump.  As  they  were  preparing  to  make  him  set  out 
the  third  time,  our  young  hero,  unable  to  support  it  any  longer,  begged  as  a 
favour  they  would  be  so  obliging  as  to  shoot  him  through  the  head.  The  favour 
being  granted,  a bandage  was  tied  over  his  eyes,  and  he  was  made  to  kneel  down. 
At  that  very  instant,  his  Bulgarian  Majesty,  happening  to  pass  by,  inquired 
into  the  delinquent’s  crime,  and  being  a prince  of  great  penetration,  he  found, 
from  what  he  heard  of  Candide,  that  he  was  a young  metaphysician,  entirely 
ignorant  of  the  world;  and  therefore,  out  of  his  great  clemency,  he  conde- 
scended to  pardon  him,  for  which  his  name  will  be  celebrated  in  every  journal, 
and  in  every  age.  A skilful  surgeon  made  a cure  of  Candide  in  three  weeks,  by 
means  of  emollient  unguents  prescribed  by  Dioscorides.  His  sores  were  now 
skinned  over,  and  he  was  able  to  march,  when  the  King  of  the  Bulgarians  gave 
battle  to  the  King  of  the  Abares. 


12 


CHAPTER  III 


How  Candide  Escaped  from  the  Bulgarians,  and  What 
Befell  Him  Afterwards 

Never  was  anything  so  gallant,  so  well  accoutred,  so  brilliant,  and  so  finely 
disposed  as  the  two  armies.  The  trumpets,  fifes,  hautboys,  drums,  and  cannon, 
made  such  harmony  as  never  was  heard  in  hell  itself.  The  entertainment  began 
by  a discharge  of  cannon,  which,  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  laid  flat  about  six 
thousand  men  on  each  side.  The  musket  bullets  swept  away,  out  of  the  best 
of  all  possible  worlds,  nine  or  ten  thousand  scoundrels  that  infested  its  surface. 
The  bayonet  was  next  the  sufficient  reason  for  the  deaths  of  several  thousands. 
The  whole  might  amount  to  thirty  thousand  souls.  Candide  trembled  like  a 
philosopher,  and  concealed  himself  as  well  as  he  could  during  this  heroic 
butchery. 

At  length,  while  the  two  kings  were  causing  Te  Deum  to  be  sung  in  each 
of  their  camps.  Candide  took  a resolution  to  go  and  reason  somewhere  else 
upon  causes  and  effects.  After  passing  over  heaps  of  dead  or  dying  men,  the 
first  place  he  came  to  was  a neighbouring  village,  in  the  Abarian  territories, 
which  had  been  burnt  to  the  ground  by  the  Bulgarians  in  accordance  with  inter- 
national law.  Here  lay  a number  of  old  men  covered  with  wounds,  who  beheld 
their  wives  dying  with  their  throats  cut,  and  hugging  their  children  to  their 
breasts  all  stained  with  blood.  There  several  young  virgins,  w'hose  bellies  had 
been  ripped  open  after  they  had  satisfied  the  natural  necessities  of  the  Bulgarian 
heroes,  breathed  their  last;  while  others,  half  burnt  in  the  flames,  begged  to 
be  dispatched  out  of  the  world.  The  ground  about  them  was  covered  with  the 
brains,  arms,  and  legs  of  dead  men. 

Candide  made  all  the  haste  he  could  to  another  village,  which  belonged  to 
the  Bulgarians,  and  there  he  found  that  the  heroic  Abares  had  enacted  the 
same  tragedy.  From  thence  continuing  to  walk  over  palpitating  limbs,  or 

*3 


through  ruined  buildings,  at  length  he  arrived  beyond  the  theatre  of  war,  with 
a little  provision  in  his  pouch,  and  Miss  Cunegund’s  image  in  his  heart.  When 
he  arrived  in  Holland  his  provisions  failed  him;  but  having  heard  that  the  inhabi- 
tants of  that  country  were  all  rich  and  Christians,  he  made  himself  sure  of 
being  treated  by  them  in  the  same  manner  as  at  the  Baron’s  castle,  before  he 
had  been  driven  from  thence  through  the  power  of  Miss  Cunegund’s  bright  eyes. 

He  asked  charity  of  several  grave-looking  people,  who  one  and  all  answered 
him  that  if  he  continued  to  follow  this  trade,  they  would  have  him  sent  to 
the  house  of  correction,  where  he  should  be  taught  to  earn  his  bread. 

He  next  addressed  himself  to  a person  who  had  just  been  haranguing  a 
numerous  assembly  for  a whole  hour  on  the  subject  of  charity.  The  orator, 
squinting  at  him  under  his  broad-brimmed  hat,  asked  him  sternly,  what  brought 
him  thither?  and  whether  he  was  for  the  good  cause? 

“Sir,”  said  Candide,  in  a submissive  manner,  “I  conceive  there  can  be  no 
effect  with  a cause;  everything  is  necessarily  concatenated  and  arranged  for  the 
best.  It  was  necessary  that  I should  be  banished  the  presence  of  Miss  Cune- 
gund;  that  I should  afterwards  run  the  gauntlet;  and  it  is  necessary  I should 
beg  my  bread,  till  I am  able  to  earn  it:  all  this  could  not  have  been  otherwise.” 
“Hark  ye,  friend,”  said  the  orator,  “do  you  hold  the  Pope  to  be  Antichrist?” 
“Truly,  I never  heard  anything  about  it,”  said  Candide;  “but  whether  he  is 
or  not,  I am  in  want  of  something  to  eat.” 

“Thou  deservest  not  to  eat  or  to  drink,”  replied  the  orator,  “wretch, 
monster  that  thou  art!  hence!  avoid  my  sight,  nor  ever  come  near  me  again 
while  thou  livest.” 

The  orator’s  wife  happened  to  put  her  head  out  of  the  window  at  that 
instant,  w'hen,  seeing  a man  who  doubted  whether  the  Pope  was  Antichrist,  she 

discharged  upon  his  head  a chamber-pot  full  of . Good  heavens,  to  what 

excess  does  religious  zeal  transport  the  female  kind! 

A man  who  had  never  been  christened,  an  honest  Anabaptist,  named  James, 
was  witness  to  the  cruel  and  ignominious  treatment  show’ed  to  one  of  his 
brethren,  to  a rational,  two-footed,  unfledged  being.  Moved  with  pity,  he 
carried  him  to  his  owTn  house,  cleaned  him  up,  gave  him  meat  and  drink,  and 
made  him  a present  of  two  florins,  at  the  same  time  proposing  to  instruct  him 
in  his  own  trade  of  weaving  Persian  silks  which  are  fabricated  in  Holland. 
Candide  threw  himself  at  his  feet,  crying: 

“Now  I am  convinced  that  Master  Pangloss  told  me  truth,  when  he  said 


that  everything  was  for  the  best  in  this  world;  for  I am  infinitely  more  affected 
by  your  extraordinary  generosity  than  by  the  inhumanity  of  that  gentleman 
in  the  black  cloak  and  his  wife.” 

The  next  day,  as  Candide  was  walking  out,  he  met  a beggar  all  covered  with 
scabs,  his  eyes  were  sunk  in  his  head,  the  end  of  his  nose  was  eaten  off,  his  mouth 
drawn  on  one  side,  his  teeth  as  black  as  coal,  snuffling  and  coughing  most  vio- 
lently, and  every  time  he  attempted  to  spit,  out  dropped  a tooth. 


>5 


CHAPTER  IV 

Flow  Candide  Found  His  Old  Master  in  Philosophy , Dr.  Pangloss , Again, 

and  What  Happened  to  Them 

Candide,  divided  between  compassion  and  horror,  but  giving  way  to  the  former, 
bestow'cd  on  this  shocking  figure  the  two  florins  which  the  honest  Anabaptist 
James  had  just  before  given  to  him.  The  spectre  looked  at  him  very  earnestly, 
shed  tears,  and  threw  his  arms  about  his  neck.  Candide  started  back  aghast. 

“Alas!”  said  the  one  wretch  to  the  other,  “don’t  you  know  your  dear 
Pangloss?” 

“What  do  I hear?  Is  it  you,  my  dear  master!  you  I behold  in  this  piteous 
plight?  What  dreadful  misfortune  has  befallen  you?  What  has  made  you 
leave  the  most  magnificent  and  delightful  of  all  castles?  What  is  become  of 
Miss  Cunegund,  the  mirror  of  young  ladies,  and  nature’s  masterpiece?” 

“Oh  Lord!”  cried  Pangloss,  “I  am  so  weak  I cannot  stand.” 

Thereupon  Candide  instantly  led  him  to  the  Anabaptist’s  stable,  and  pro- 
cured him  something  to  eat.  As  soon  as  Pangloss  had  a little  refreshed  himself. 
Candide  began  to  repeat  his  inquiries  concerning  Miss  Cunegund. 

16 


“She  is  dead,”  replied  the  other. 

Candide  immediately  fainted  away:  his  friend  recovered  him  by  the  help 
of  a little  bad  vinegar  which  he  found  by  chance  in  the  stable.  Candide  opened 
his  eyes. 

“Dead!  Miss  Cunegund  dead!”  he  said.  “Ah,  where  is  the  best  of  worlds 
now?  But  of  what  illness  did  she  die?  Was  it  for  grief  upon  seeing  her  father 
kick  me  out  of  his  magnificent  castle?” 

“No,”  replied  Pangloss;  “her  belly  was  ripped  open  by  the  Bulgarian  soldiers, 
after  they  had  ravished  her  as  much  as  it  was  possible  for  damsel  to  be  ravished: 
they  knocked  the  Baron  her  father  on  the  head  for  attempting  to  defend  her; 
my  lady  her  mother  was  cut  in  pieces;  my  poor  pupil  was  served  just  in  the 
same  manner  as  his  sister;  and  as  for  the  castle,  they  have  not  left  one  stone 
upon  another;  they  have  destroyed  all  the  ducks,  and  the  sheep,  the  bams,  and 
the  trees:  but  we  have  had  our  revenge,  for  the  Abares  have  done  the  very 
same  thing  in  a neighbouring  barony,  which  belonged  to  a Bulgarian  lord.” 

At  hearing  this,  Candide  fainted  away  a second  time;  but,  having  come  to 
himself  again,  he  said  all  that  it  became  him  to  say;  he  inquired  into  the  cause 
and  effect,  as  well  as  into  the  sufficing  reason,  that  had  reduced  Pangloss  to  so 
miserable  a condition. 

“Alas!”  replied  the  other,  “it  was  love:  love,  the  comfort  of  the  human 
species;  love,  the  preserver  of  the  universe,  the  soul  of  all  sensible  beings;  love! 
tender  love!” 

“Alas,”  replied  Candide,  “I  have  had  some  knowledge  of  love  myself,  this 
sovereign  of  hearts,  this  soul  of  souls;  yet  it  never  cost  me  more  than  a kiss,  and 
twenty  kicks  on  the  backside.  But  how  could  this  beautiful  cause  produce  in 
you  so  hideous  an  effect?” 

Pangloss  made  answer  in  these  terms:  “O  my  dear  Candide,  you  must 
remember  Pacquette,  that  pretty  wrench,  who  waited  on  our  noble  Baroness; 
in  her  arms  I tasted  the  pleasures  of  paradise,  which  produced  these  hell- 
torments  with  which  you  see  me  devoured.  She  was  infected  with  the  disease, 
and  perhaps  is  since  dead  of  it;  she  received  this  present  of  a learned  cordelier, 
who  derived  it  from  the  fountain-head;  he  was  indebted  for  it  to  an  old  countess, 
who  had  it  of  a captain  of  horse,  who  had  it  of  a marchioness,  who  had  it  of  a 
page;  the  page  had  it  of  a Jesuit,  who,  during  his  novitiate,  had  it  in  a direct 
line  from  one  of  the  fellow-adventurers  of  Christopher  Columbus;  for  my  part 
I shall  give  it  to  nobody,  I am  a dying  man.” 


l7 


“O  Pangloss,”  cried  Candide,  “what  a strange  genealogy  is  this!  Is  not  the 
devil  the  root  of  it?” 

“Not  at  all,”  replied  the  great  man,  “it  was  a thing  unavoidable,  a necessary 
ingredient  in  the  best  of  worlds;  for  if  Columbus  had  not,  in  an  island  of 
America,  caught  this  disease,  which  contaminates  the  source  of  generation, 
and  frequently  impedes  propagation  itself,  and  is  evidently  opposite  to  the 
great  end  of  nature,  we  should  have  had  neither  chocolate  nor  cochineal.  It 
is  also  to  be  observed  that,  even  to  the  present  time,  in  this  continent  of  ours, 
this  malady,  like  our  religious  controversies,  is  peculiar  to  ourselves.  The  Turks, 
the  Indians,  the  Persians,  the  Chinese,  the  Siamese,  and  the  Japanese  are 
entirely  unacquainted  with  it;  but  there  is  a sufficing  reason  for  them  to  know 
it  in  a few  centuries.  In  the  meantime,  it  is  making  prodigious  progress  among 
us,  especially  in  those  armies  composed  of  well-disciplined  hirelings,  who 
determine  the  fate  of  nations;  for  we  may  safely  affirm  that,  when  an  army  of 
thirty  thousand  men  fights  another  equal  in  number,  there  are  about  twenty 
thousand  of  them  poxed  on  each  side.” 

“Very  surprising,  indeed,”  said  Candide,  “but  you  must  get  cured.” 

“How  can  I?”  said  Pangloss:  “my  dear  friend,  I have  not  a penny  in  the 
world;  and  you  know  one  cannot  be  bled,  or  have  a clyster,  without  a fee.” 
This  last  speech  had  its  effect  on  Candide;  he  flew  to  the  charitable  Ana- 
baptist James,  he  flung  himself  at  his  feet,  and  gave  him  so  touching  a picture 
of  the  miserable  situation  of  his  friend,  that  the  good  man,  without  any  further 
hesitation,  agreed  to  take  Dr.  Pangloss  into  his  house,  and  to  pay  for  his  cure. 
The  cure  was  effected  with  only  the  loss  of  one  eye  and  an  ear.  As  he  wrote 
a good  hand  and  understood  accounts  tolerably  well,  the  Anabaptist  made 
him  his  book-keeper.  At  the  expiration  of  two  months,  being  obliged  to  go 
to  Lisbon,  about  some  mercantile  affairs,  he  took  the  two  philosophers  with 
him  in  the  same  ship;  Pangloss,  during  the  voyage,  explained  to  him  how 
everything  was  so  constituted  that  it  could  not  be  better.  James  did  not  quite 
agree  with  him  on  this  point. 

“Mankind,”  said  he,  “must,  in  some  things,  have  deviated  from  their  original 
innocence;  for  they  were  not  born  wolves,  and  yet  they  worry  one  another 
like  those  beasts  of  prey.  God  never  gave  them  twenty-four  pounders  nor 
bayonets,  and  yet  they  have  made  cannon  and  bayonets  to  destroy  one  another. 
To  this  account  I might  add,  not  only  bankruptcies,  but  the  law,  which  seizes 
on  the  effects  of  bankrupts,  only  to  cheat  the  creditors.” 

18 


“All  this  was  indispensably  necessary,”  replied  the  one-eyed  doctor-  “for 
pnvate  misfortunes  are  public  benefits;  so  that  the  more  private  misfortunes 
there  are,  the  greater  is  the  general  good.” 

While  he  was  arguing  in  this  manner,  the  sky  was  overcast,  the  winds  blew 
from  the  four  quarters  of  the  compass,  and  the  ship  was  assailed  by  a most 
terrible  tempest,  within  sight  of  the  port  of  Lisbon. 


CHAPTER  V 


A Tempest , a Shipwreck , an  Earthquake;  and  What  Else  Befell 
Dr.  Pangloss , Candide , and  fames  the  Anabaptist 

One  half  of  the  passengers,  weakened  and  half  dead  with  the  inconceivable 
anguish  which  the  rolling  of  a vessel  at  sea  occasions  to  the  nerves  and  all  the 
humours  of  the  body,  tossed  about  in  opposite  directions,  were  lost  to  all  sense 
of  the  danger  that  surrounded  them.  The  other  made  loud  outcries,  or  betook 
themselves  to  their  prayers;  the  sails  were  blown  into  shivers,  and  the  masts 
were  brought  by  the  board.  The  vessel  leaked.  Every  one  was  busily  employed, 
but  nobody  could  be  either  heard  or  obeyed.  The  Anabaptist,  being  upon 
deck,  lent  a helping  hand  as  well  as  the  rest,  when  a brutish  sailor  gave  him  a 
blow,  and  laid  him  speechless;  but,  with  the  violence  of  the  blow,  the  tar  himself 
tumbled  head  foremost  overboard,  and  fell  upon  a piece  of  the  broken  mast, 
which  he  immediately  grasped.  Honest  James  flew  to  his  assistance,  and  hauled 
him  in  again,  but,  in  the  attempt,  was  thrown  overboard  himself  in  sight  of 


20 


the  sailor,  who  left  him  to  perish  without  taking  the  least  notice  of  him.  Can- 
dide, who  beheld  all  that  passed,  and  saw  his  benefactor  one  moment  rising 
above  water,  and  the  next  swallowed  up  by  the  merciless  waves,  was  preparing 
to  jump  after  him;  but  was  prevented  by  the  philosopher  Pangloss,  who  demon- 
strated to  him  that  the  coast  of  Lisbon  had  been  made  on  purpose  for  the 
Anabaptist  to  be  drowned  there.  While  he  was  proving  his  argument  à priori, 
the  ship  foundered,  and  the  whole  crew  perished,  except  Pangloss,  Candide, 
and  the  brute  of  a sailor  who  had  been  the  means  of  drowning  the  good  Ana- 
baptist. The  villain  swam  ashore;  but  Pangloss  and  Candide  got  to  land  upon 
a plank. 

As  soon  as  they  had  recovered  a little,  they  walked  towards  Lisbon;  with 
what  little  money  they  had  left  they  thought  to  save  themselves  from  starving 
after  having  escaped  drowning. 

Scarce  had  they  done  lamenting  the  loss  of  their  benefactor  and  set  foot 
in  the  city,  when  they  perceived  the  earth  to  tremble  under  their  feet,  and  the 
sea,  swelling  and  foaming  in  the  harbour,  dash  in  pieces  the  vessels  that  were 
riding  at  anchor.  Large  sheets  of  flames  and  cinders  covered  the  streets  and 
public  places;  the  houses  tottered,  and  were  tumbled  topsy-turvy,  even  to  their 
foundations,  which  were  themselves  destroyed,  and  thirty  thousand  inhabitants 
of  both  sexes,  young  and  old,  were  buried  beneath  the  ruins. 

The  sailor,  whistling  and  swearing,  cried,  “Damn  it,  there’s  something  to 
be  got  here.” 

“What  can  be  the  sufficing  reason  of  this  phenomenon?”  said  Pangloss. 

“It  is  certainly  the  day  of  judgment,”  said  Candide. 

The  sailor,  defying  death  in  the  pursuit  of  plunder,  rushed  into  the  midst 
of  the  ruin,  where  he  found  some  money,  with  which  he  got  drunk,  and  after 
he  had  slept  himself  sober,  he  purchased  the  favours  of  the  first  good-natured 
wench  that  came  his  way,  amidst  the  ruins  of  demolished  houses,  and  the 
groans  of  half-buried  and  expiring  persons.  Pangloss  pulled  him  by  the  sleeve. 

“Friend,”  said  he,  “this  is  not  right,  you  trespass  against  the  universal 
reason,  and  have  mistaken  your  time.” 

“Death  and  zounds!”  answered  the  other,  “I  am  a sailor,  and  born  at  Batavia, 
and  have  trampled  four  times  upon  the  crucifix  in  as  many  voyages  to  Japan: 
you  are  come  to  a good  hand  with  your  universal  reason.” 

Candide,  who  had  been  wounded  by  some  pieces  of  stone  that  fell  from 
the  houses,  lay  stretched  in  the  street,  almost  covered  with  rubbish. 


21 


“For  God’s  sake,”  said  he,  “get  me  a little  wine  and  oil.  I am  dying.” 

“This  concussion  of  the  earth  is  no  new  thing,”  replied  Pangloss,  “the  city 
of  Lima,  in  America,  experienced  the  same  last  year;  the  same  cause,  the  same 
effects:  there  is  certainly  a train  of  sulphur  all  the  way  under  ground  from  Lima 
to  Lisbon.” 

“Nothing  more  probable,”  said  Candide;  “but,  for  the  love  of  God,  a little 
oil  and  wine.” 

“Probable!”  replied  the  philosopher,  “I  maintain  that  the  thing  is  demon- 
strable.” 

Candide  fainted  away,  and  Pangloss  fetched  him  some  water  from  a neigh- 
bouring spring. 

The  next  day,  in  searching  among  the  ruins,  they  found  some  eatables  with 
which  they  repaired  their  exhausted  strength.  After  this,  they  assisted  the 
inhabitants  in  relieving  the  distressed  and  wounded.  Some,  whom  they  had 
humanely  assisted,  gave  them  as  good  a dinner  as  could  be  expected  under  such 
terrible  circumstances.  The  repast,  indeed,  was  mournful,  and  the  company 
moistened  their  bread  with  their  tears;  but  Pangloss  endeavoured  to  comfort 
them  under  this  affliction  by  affirming  that  things  could  not  be  otherwise  than 
they  were. 

“For,”  said  he,  “all  this  is  for  the  very  best  end;  for  if  there  is  a volcano  at 
Lisbon,  it  could  be  on  no  other  spot;  for  it  is  impossible  for  things  not  to  be 
as  they  are,  for  everything  is  for  the  best.” 

By  his  side  sat  a little  man  dressed  in  black,  who  was  one  of  the  familiars 
of  the  Inquisition.  This  person,  taking  him  up  with  great  politeness,  said, 
“Possibly,  my  good  Sir,  you  do  not  believe  in  original  sin;  for  if  everything  is 
best,  there  could  have  been  no  such  thing  as  the  fall  or  punishment  of  man.” 

“I  humbly  ask  your  Excellency’s  pardon,”  answered  Pangloss,  still  more 
politely;  “for  the  fall  of  man,  and  the  curse  consequent  thereupon  necessarily 
entered  into  the  system  of  the  best  of  worlds.” 

“That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  Sir,”  rejoined  the  familiar,  “you  do  not  believe 
in  free  will.” 

“Your  Excellency  will  be  so  good  as  to  excuse  me,”  said  Pangloss;  “free 
will  is  consistent  with  absolute  necessity;  for  it  was  necessary  we  should  be  free, 
for  in  that  the  will ” 

Pangloss  was  in  the  midst  of  his  proposition,  when  the  familiar  made  a sign 
to  the  attendant  who  was  helping  him  to  a glass  of  port  wine. 


22 


CHAPTER  VI 

How  the  Portuguese  Made  a Superb  A uto-da-Fé  to  Prevent  Any  Future 
Earthquakes,  and  How  Candide  Underwent  Public  Flagellation 

After  the  earthquake  which  had  destroyed  three-quarters  of  the  city  of  Lisbon, 
the  sages  of  that  country  could  think  of  no  means  more  effectual  to  preserve 
the  kingdom  from  utter  ruin,  than  to  entertain  the  people  with  an  auto-da-fé, 
it  having  been  decided  by  the  University  of  Coimbra  that  burning  a few  people 
alive  by  a slow  fire,  and  with  great  ceremony,  is  an  infallible  secret  to  prevent 
earthquakes. 

In  consequence  thereof  they  had  seized  on  a Biscayan  for  marrying  his 
godmother,  and  on  two  Portuguese  for  taking  out  the  bacon  of  a larded  pullet 
they  were  eating.  After  dinner,  they  came  and  secured  Dr.  Pangloss,  and  his 
pupil  Candide;  the  one  for  speaking  his  mind,  and  the  other  for  seeming  to 
approve  what  he  had  said.  They  were  conducted  to  separate  apartments, 


extremely  cool,  where  they  were  never  incommoded  with  the  sun.  Eight  days 
afterwards  they  were  each  dressed  in  a sanbenito,*  and  their  heads  were  adorned 
with  paper  mitres.  The  mitre  and  sanbenito  worn  by  Candide  were  painted 
with  flames  reversed,  and  with  devils  that  had  neither  tails  nor  claws;  but  Dr. 
Pangloss’s  devils  had  both  tails  and  claws,  and  his  flames  were  upright.  In 
these  habits  they  marched  in  procession,  and  heard  a very  pathetic  sermon, 
which  was  followed  by  a chant,  beautifully  intoned.  Candide  was  flogged  in 
regular  cadence,  while  the  chant  was  being  sung;  the  Biscayan,  and  the  two 
men  who  would  not  eat  bacon,  were  burnt,  and  Pangloss  was  hanged,  although 
this  is  not  a common  custom  at  these  solemnities.  The  same  day  there  was 
another  earthquake,  which  made  most  dreadful  havoc. 

Candide,  amazed,  terrified,  confounded,  astonished,  and  trembling  from 
head  to  foot,  said  to  himself,  “If  this  is  the  best  of  all  possible  worlds,  what  are 
the  others?  If  I had  only  been  whipped,  I could  have  put  up  with  it,  as  I did 
among  the  Bulgarians;  but,  O my  dear  Pangloss!  thou  greatest  of  philosophers! 
that  ever  I should  live  to  see  thee  hanged,  without  knowing  for  what!  O my 
dear  Anabaptist,  thou  best  of  men,  that  it  should  be  thy  fate  to  be  drowned 
in  the  very  harbour!  O Miss  Cunegund,  you  mirror  of  young  ladies!  that  it 
should  be  your  fate  to  have  your  belly  ripped  open.” 

He  was  making  the  best  of  his  way  from  the  place  where  he  had  been 
preached  to,  whipped,  absolved,  and  received  benediction,  when  he  was 
accosted  by  an  old  woman,  who  said  to  him,  “Take  courage,  my  son,  and 
follow  me.” 

* A kind  of  garment  worn  by  the  criminals  of  the  Inquisition. 


24 


CHAPTER  VII 

How  the  Old  Woman  Took  Care  of  Candide , and  How  He  Found 

the  Object  of  His  Love 

Candide  followed  the  old  woman,  though  without  taking  courage,  to  a decayed 
house  where  she  gave  him  a pot  of  pomatum  to  anoint  his  sores,  showed  him 
a very  neat  bed,  with  a suit  of  clothes  hanging  up  by  it;  and  set  victuals  and 
drink  before  him. 

“There,”  said  she,  “eat,  drink,  and  sleep,  and  may  our  blessed  Lady  of 
Atocha,  and  the  great  St.  Anthony  of  Padua,  and  the  illustrious  St.  James  of 
Compostella,  take  you  under  their  protection.  I shall  be  back  to-morrow.” 

Candide,  struck  with  amazement  at  what  he  had  seen,  at  what  he  had 
suffered,  and  still  more  with  the  charity  of  the  old  woman,  would  have  shown 
his  acknowledgment  by  kissing  her  hand. 


25 


“It  is  not  my  hand  you  ought  to  kiss,”  said  the  old  woman,  “I  shall  be  back 
to-morrow.  Anoint  your  back,  eat,  and  take  your  rest.” 

Candide,  notwithstanding  so  many  disasters,  ate  and  slept.  The  next  morn- 
ing, the  old  woman  brought  him  his  breakfast;  examined  his  back,  and  rubbed 
it  herself  with  another  ointment.  She  returned  at  the  proper  time,  and  brought 
him  his  dinner;  and  at  night  she  visited  him  again  with  his  supper.  The  next 
day  she  observed  the  same  ceremonies. 

“Who  are  you?”  said  Candide  to  her.  “What  god  has  inspired  you  with 
so  much  goodness?  What  return  can  I ever  make  you?” 

The  good  old  beldame  kept  a profound  silence.  In  the  evening  she  returned, 
but  without  his  supper. 

“Come  along  with  me,”  said  she,  “but  do  not  speak  a word.” 

She  took  him  by  the  arm,  and  walked  with  him  about  a quarter  of  a mile 
into  the  country,  till  they  came  to  a lonely  house  surrounded  with  moats  and 
gardens.  The  old  woman  knocked  at  a little  door,  which  was  immediately 
opened,  and  she  showed  him  up  a pair  of  back  stairs  into  a small,  but  richly 
furnished  apartment.  There  she  made  him  sit  down  on  a brocaded  sofa,  shut 
the  door  upon  him,  and  left  him.  Candide  thought  himself  in  a trance;  he 
looked  upon  his  whole  life  hitherto  as  a frightful  dream,  and  the  present 
moment  as  a very  agreeable  one. 

The  old  woman  soon  returned,  supporting  with  great  difficulty  a young 
lady,  who  appeared  scarce  able  to  stand.  She  was  of  a majestic  mien  and 
stature;  her  dress  was  rich,  and  glittering  with  diamonds,  and  her  face  was 
covered  with  a veil. 

“Take  off  that  veil,”  said  the  old  woman  to  Candide. 

The  young  man  approached,  and,  with  a trembling  hand,  took  off  her  veil. 
What  a happy  moment!  What  surprise!  He  thought  he  beheld  Miss  Cune- 
gund; he  did  behold  her,  it  was  she  herself.  His  strength  failed  him,  he  could 
not  utter  a word,  he  fell  at  her  feet.  Cunegund  fainted  upon  the  sofa.  The 
old  woman  bedewed  them  with  spirits;  they  recovered;  they  began  to  speak. 
At  first  they  could  express  themselves  only  in  broken  accents;  their  questions 
and  answers  were  alternately  interrupted  with  sighs,  tears,  and  exclamations. 
The  old  woman  desired  them  to  make  less  noise;  and  left  them  together. 

“Good  heavens!”  cried  Candide,  “is  it  you?  Is  it  Miss  Cunegund  I behold, 
and  alive?  Do  I find  you  again  in  Portugal?  Then  you  have  not  been  ravished? 
They  did  not  rip  open  your  belly,  as  the  philosopher  Pangloss  informed  me?” 
26 


“Indeed  but  they  did,”  replied  Miss  Cunegund;  “but  these  two  accidents 
do  not  always  prove  mortal.” 

“But  were  your  father  and  mother  killed?” 

“Alas!”  answered  she,  “it  is  but  too  true!”  and  she  wept. 

“And  your  brother?” 

“And  my  brother  also.” 

“And  how  did  you  come  to  Portugal?  And  how  did  you  know  of  my  being 
here?  And  by  what  strange  adventure  did  you  contrive  to  have  me  brought 
into  this  house?” 

“I  will  tell  you  all,”  replied  the  lady,  “but  first  you  must  acquaint  me  with 
all  that  has  befallen  you  since  the  innocent  kiss  you  gave  me,  and  the  rude 
kicking  you  received.” 

Candide,  with  the  greatest  submission,  obeyed  her,  and  though  he  was  still 
wrapped  in  amazement,  though  his  voice  was  low  and  tremulous,  though  his 
back  pained  him,  yet  he  gave  her  a most  ingenuous  account  of  everything  that 
had  befallen  him  since  the  moment  of  their  separation.  Cunegund,  with  her 
eyes  uplifted  to  heaven,  shed  tears  when  he  related  the  death  of  the  good  Ana- 
baptist James,  and  of  Pangloss;  after  which,  she  thus  related  her  adventures  to 
Candide,  who  lost  not  one  syllable  she  uttered,  and  seemed  to  devour  her  with 
his  eyes  all  the  time  she  was  speaking. 


27 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  History  of  Cunegund 

“I  was  in  bed  and  fast  asleep,  when  it  pleased  heaven  to  send  the  Bulgarians 
to  our  delightful  castle  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  where  they  murdered  iny  father 
and  brother,  and  cut  my  mother  in  pieces.  A tall  Bulgarian  soldier,  six  feet 
high,  perceiving  that  I had  fainted  away  at  this  sight,  attempted  to  ravish  me; 
the  operation  brought  me  to  my  senses.  I cried,  I struggled,  I bit,  I scratched, 
I would  have  torn  the  tall  Bulgarian’s  eyes  out,  not  knowing  that  what  had  hap- 
pened at  my  father’s  castle  was  a customary  thing.  The  brutal  soldier  gave  me 
a cut  in  the  left  groin  with  his  hanger,  the  mark  of  which  I still  carry.” 

“I  hope  I shall  see  it,”  said  Candide,  with  all  imaginable  simplicity. 

"You  shall,”  said  Cunegund;  "but  let  me  proceed.” 

"Pray  do,”  replied  Candide. 

She  continued.  “A  Bulgarian  captain  came  in  and  saw  me  weltering  in  my 
blood,  and  the  soldier  still  as  busy  as  if  no  one  had  been  present.  The  officer, 
enraged  at  the  fellow’s  want  of  respect  to  him,  killed  him  with  one  stroke  of  his 
sabre  as  he  lay  upon  me.  This  captain  took  care  of  me,  had  me  cured,  and 
carried  me  prisoner  of  war  to  his  quarters.  I washed  what  little  linen  he  w’as 
28 


master  of,  and  dressed  his  victuals:  he  thought  me  very  pretty,  it  must  be  con- 
fessed; neither  can  I deny  that  he  was  well  made,  and  had  a white  soft  skin,  but 
he  was  very  stupid,  and  knew  nothing  of  philosophy:  it  might  plainly  be  per- 
ceived that  he  had  not  been  educated  under  Doctor  Pangloss.  In  three  months’ 
time,  having  gamed  away  all  his  money,  and  being  grown  tired  of  me,  he  sold 
me  to  a Jew,  named  Don  Issachar,  who  traded  in  Holland  and  Portugal,  and  was 
passionately  fond  of  women.  This  Jew  showed  me  great  kindness  in  hopes  to 
gain  my  favours;  but  he  never  could  prevail  on  me.  A modest  woman  may  be 
once  ravished;  but  her  virtue  is  greatly  strengthened  thereby.  In  order  to  make 
sure  of  me,  he  brought  me  to  this  country  house  you  now  see.  I had  hitherto 
believed  that  nothing  could  equal  the  beauty  of  the  castle  of  Thunder-ten- 
tronckh;  but  I found  I was  mistaken. 

‘The  Grand  Inquisitor  saw  me  one  day  at  mass,  ogled  me  all  the  time  of 
service,  and,  when  it  was  over,  sent  to  let  me  know  he  wanted  to  speak  with  me 
about  some  private  business.  I was  conducted  to  his  palace,  where  I told  him  of 
my  parentage:  he  represented  to  me  how  much  it  was  beneath  a person  of  my 
birth  to  belong  to  an  Israelite.  He  caused  a proposal  to  be  made  to  Don  Issachar 
that  he  should  resign  me  to  his  lordship.  Don  Issachar,  being  the  court  banker, 
and  a man  of  credit,  was  not  easily  to  be  prevailed  upon.  His  lordship  threatened 
him  with  an  auto-da-fé;  in  short,  my  Jew  was  frightened  into  a compromise, 
and  it  was  agreed  between  them  that  the  house  and  myself  should  belong  to 
both  in  common;  that  the  Jew  should  have  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  the  Sab- 
bath to  himself;  and  the  Inquisitor  the  other  days  of  the  week.  This  agreement 
has  lasted  almost  six  months;  but  not  without  several  disputes,  whether  the 
space  from  Saturday  night  to  Sunday  morning  belonged  to  the  old  or  the  new 
law.  For  my  part,  I have  hitherto  withstood  them  both,  and  truly  I believe 
this  is  the  very  reason  why  they  both  still  love  me. 

“At  length,  to  turn  aside  the  scourge  of  earthquakes,  and  to  intimidate  Don 
Issachar,  my  lord  Inquisitor  was  pleased  to  celebrate  an  auto-da-fé.  He  did  me 
the  honour  to  invite  me  to  the  ceremony.  I had  a very  good  seat;  and  refresh- 
ments were  offered  the  ladies  between  mass  and  the  execution.  I was  dreadfully 
shocked  at  the  burning  of  the  two  Jews,  and  the  honest  Biscayan  who  married 
his  godmother;  but  how  great  was  my  surprise,  my  consternation,  and  concern, 
when  I beheld  a figure  so  like  Pangloss,  dressed  in  a sanbenito  and  mitre!  I 
rubbed  my  eyes,  I looked  at  him  attentively.  I saw  him  hanged,  and  I fainted 
away:  scarce  had  I recovered  my  senses,  when  I beheld  you  stark  naked;  this 

29 


was  the  height  of  horror,  grief,  and  despair.  I must  confess  to  you  for  a truth, 
that  your  skin  is  far  whiter  and  more  blooming  than  that  of  the  Bulgarian 
captain.  This  spectacle  worked  me  up  to  a pitch  of  distraction.  I screamed  out, 
and  would  have  said,  ‘Hold,  barbarians!’  but  my  voice  failed  me;  and  indeed 
my  cries  would  have  been  useless.  After  you  had  been  severely  whipped  I said  to 
myself,  ‘How  is  it  possible  that  the  lovely  Candide  and  the  sage  Pangloss  should 
be  at  Lisbon,  the  one  to  receive  a hundred  lashes,  and  the  other  to  be  hanged 
by  order  of  my  lord  Inquisitor,  of  whom  I am  so  great  a favourite?  Pangloss 
deceived  me  most  cruelly,  in  saying  that  everything  is  fittest  and  best.’ 

“Thus  agitated  and  perplexed,  now  distracted  and  lost,  now  half  dead  with 
grief,  I revolved  in  my  mind  the  murder  of  my  father,  mother,  and  brother; 
the  insolence  of  the  rascally  Bulgarian  soldier;  the  wound  he  gave  me  in  the 
groin;  my  servitude;  my  being  a cook-wench  to  my  Bulgarian  captain;  my  sub- 
jection to  the  villainous  Don  Issachar,  and  my  cruel  Inquisitor;  the  hanging  of 
Doctor  Pangloss;  the  Miserere  sung  while  you  were  whipped;  and  particularly 
the  kiss  I gave  you  behind  the  screen  the  last  day  I ever  beheld  you.  I returned 
thanks  to  God  for  having  brought  you  to  the  place  where  I was,  after  so  many 
trials.  I charged  the  old  woman  who  attends  me  to  bring  you  hither,  as  soon 
as  possible.  She  has  carried  out  my  orders  well,  and  I now  enjoy  the  inexpres- 
sible satisfaction  of  seeing  you,  hearing  you,  and  speaking  to  you.  But  you  must 
certainly  be  half  dead  with  hunger;  I myself  have  got  a good  appetite,  and  so 
let  us  sit  down  to  supper.” 

Upon  this  the  two  lovers  immediately  placed  themselves  at  table,  and,  after 
having  supped,  they  returned  to  seat  themselves  again  on  the  magnificent  sofa 
already  mentioned;  they  were  there  when  Signor  Don  Issachar,  one  of  the 
masters  of  the  house,  entered  unexpectedly;  it  was  the  Sabbath  day,  and  he 
came  to  enjoy  his  privilege,  and  sigh  forth  his  tender  passion. 


3° 


CHAPTER  IX 


W hat  Happened  to  Cunegund,  Candide , the  Grand  Inquisitor, 

and  the  Jew 

This  same  Issachar  was  the  most  choleric  little  Hebrew  that  had  ever  been 
in  Israel  since  the  captivity  in  Babylon. 

“What,”  said  he,  “you  Galilean  bitch,  my  lord  Inquisitor  was  not  enough 
for  thee,  but  this  rascal  must  come  in  for  a share  with  me?” 

Uttering  these  words,  he  drew  out  a long  poniard  which  he  always  carried 
about  him,  and  never  dreaming  that  his  adversary  had  any  arms,  he  attacked 
him  most  furiously;  but  our  honest  Westphalian  had  received  a handsome 
sword  from  the  old  woman  with  the  suit  of  clothes.  Candide  drew  his  rapier; 
and  though  he  was  the  most  gentle,  sweet-tempered  young  man  breathing,  he 
whipped  it  into  the  Israelite  and  laid  him  sprawling  on  the  floor  at  the  fair 
Cunegund’s  feet. 


31 


“Holy  Virgin!”  cried  she,  “what  will  become  of  us?  A man  killed  in  my 
apartment!  If  the  peace-officers  come,  we  are  undone.” 

“Had  not  Pangloss  been  hanged,”  replied  Candide,  “he  would  have  given 
us  most  excellent  advice  in  this  emergency,  for  he  was  a profound  philosopher. 
But,  since  he  is  not  here,  let  us  consult  the  old  woman.” 

She  was  very  intelligent,  and  was  beginning  to  give  her  advice  when  another 
door  opened  suddenly.  It  was  now  one  o’clock  in  the  morning,  and  of  course 
the  beginning  of  Sunday,  which,  by  agreement,  fell  to  the  lot  of  my  lord 
Inquisitor.  Entering,  he  discovered  the  flagellated  Candide  with  his  drawn 
sword  in  his  hand,  a dead  body  stretched  on  the  floor,  Cunegund  frightened 
out  of  her  wits,  and  the  old  woman  giving  advice. 

At  that  very  moment  a sudden  thought  came  into  Candide’s  head. 

“If  this  holy  man,”  thought  he,  “should  call  assistance,  I shall  most  un- 
doubtedly be  consigned  to  the  flames,  and  Miss  Cunegund  may  perhaps  meet 
with  no  better  treatment;  besides,  he  was  the  cause  of  my  being  so  cruelly 
whipped;  he  is  my  rival;  and  I have  now  begun  to  dip  my  hands  in  blood;  there 
is  no  time  to  hesitate.” 

This  whole  train  of  reasoning  was  clear  and  instantaneous;  so  that,  without 
giving  time  to  the  Inquisitor  to  recover  from  his  surprise,  he  ran  him  through 
the  body,  and  laid  him  by  the  side  of  the  Jew. 

“Good  God!”  cried  Cunegund,  “here’s  another  fine  piece  of  wrork!  now 
there  can  be  no  mercy  for  us,  we  are  excommunicated;  our  last  hour  is  come. 
But  how  in  the  name  of  wonder  could  you,  who  are  of  so  mild  a temper,  dispatch 
a Jew  and  a prelate  in  twro  minutes’  time?” 

“Beautiful  lady,”  answered  Candide,  “when  a man  is  in  love,  is  jealous,  and 
has  been  flogged  by  the  Inquisition,  he  becomes  lost  to  all  reflection.” 

The  old  woman  then  put  in  her  word. 

“There  are  three  Andalusian  horses  in  the  stable,”  said  she,  “with  as  many 
bridles  and  saddles;  let  the  brave  Candide  get  them  ready;  madam  has  moidores 
and  jewels;  let  us  mount  immediately,  though  I have  only  one  buttock  to  sit 
upon;  let  us  set  out  for  Cadiz;  it  is  the  finest  wreather  in  the  world,  and  there 
is  great  pleasure  in  travelling  in  the  cool  of  the  night.” 

Candide,  without  any  further  hesitation,  saddled  the  three  horses;  and  Miss 
Cunegund,  the  old  woman,  and  he  set  out,  and  travelled  thirty  miles  without 
once  stopping.  While  they  were  making  the  best  of  their  way,  the  Holy  Brother- 

32 


hood  entered  the  house.  My  Lord  the  Inquisitor  was  interred  in  a magnificent 
manner,  and  Issachar  s body  was  thrown  upon  a dunghill. 

Candide,  Cunegund,  and  the  old  woman  had,  by  this  time,  reached  the 
little  town  of  Aracena,  in  the  midst  of  the  mountains  of  Sierra  Morena,  and 
were  engaged  in  the  following  conversation  in  an  inn. 


33 


In  What  Distress  Candide,  Cunegund,  and  the  Old  Woman 
Arrive  at  Cadiz;  and  of  Their  Embarkation 

“Who  could  it  be  who  has  robbed  me  of  my  moidores  and  jewels?”  exclaimed 
Miss  Cunegund,  all  bathed  in  tears.  “How  shall  we  live?  What  shall  we  do? 
Where  shall  I find  Inquisitors  and  Jews  who  can  give  me  more?” 

“Alas!”  said  the  old  woman,  “I  have  a shrewd  suspicion  of  a reverend  father 
cordelier,  who  lay  last  night  in  the  same  inn  with  us  at  Badajoz:  God  forbid  I 
should  condemn  any  one  wrongfully,  but  he  came  into  our  room  twice,  and 
he  set  off  in  the  morning  long  before  us.” 

“Alas!”  said  Candide,  “Pangloss  has  often  demonstrated  to  me  that  the 
goods  of  this  world  are  common  to  all  men,  and  that  every  one  has  an  equal 
right  to  the  enjoyment  of  them;  but,  according  to  these  principles,  the  cordelier 

34 


ought  to  have  left  us  enough  to  carry  us  to  the  end  of  our  journey.  Have  you 
nothing  at  all  left,  my  beautiful  Cunegund?” 

“Not  a sou,”  replied  she. 

“What  is  to  be  done  then?”  said  Candide. 

“Sell  one  of  the  horses,”  replied  the  old  woman,  “I  will  get  behind  my 
young  lady  though  I have  only  one  buttock  to  ride  on,  and  we  shall  reach  Cadiz, 
never  fear.” 

In  the  same  inn  there  was  a Benedictine  prior  who  bought  the  horse  very 
cheap.  Candide,  Cunegund,  and  the  old  woman,  after  passing  through  Luccna, 
Chellas,  and  Lebrija,  arrived  at  length  at  Cadiz.  A fleet  was  then  getting  ready, 
and  troops  were  assembling  in  order  to  reduce  the  reverend  fathers,  the  Jesuits 
of  Paraguay,  who  were  accused  of  having  excited  one  of  the  Indian  tribes,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  town  of  the  Holy  Sacrament,  to  revolt  against  the 
Kings  of  Spain  and  Portugal.  Candide,  having  been  in  the  Bulgarian  service, 
performed  the  military  exercise  of  that  nation  before  the  general  of  this  little 
army  with  so  intrepid  an  air,  and  with  such  agility  and  expedition  that  he  gave 
him  the  command  of  a company  of  foot.  Being  now  made  a captain,  he  em- 
barked with  Miss  Cunegund,  the  old  woman,  two  valets,  and  the  two  Andalusian 
horses  which  had  belonged  to  the  Grand  Inquisitor  of  Portugal. 

During  their  voyage  they  amused  themselves  with  many  profound  reason- 
ings on  poor  Pangloss’s  philosophy. 

“We  are  now  going  into  another  world,”  said  Candide,  “and  surely  it 
must  be  there  that  everything  is  best;  for  I must  confess  that  we  have  had  some 
little  reason  to  complain  of  what  passes  in  ours,  both  as  to  the  physical  and 
moral  part.” 

“Though  I have  a sincere  love  for  you,”  said  Miss  Cunegund,  “yet  I still 
shudder  at  the  reflection  of  what  I have  seen  and  experienced.” 

“All  will  be  well,”  replied  Candide,  “the  sea  of  this  new  world  is  already 
better  than  our  European  seas:  it  is  smoother,  and  the  winds  blow  more 
regularly.” 

“God  grant  it,”  said  Cunegund;  “but  I have  met  with  such  terrible  treat- 
ment in  this  that  I have  almost  lost  all  hopes  of  a better.” 

“What  murmuring  and  complaining  is  here  indeed!”  cried  the  old  woman. 
“If  you  had  suffered  half  what  I have  done,  there  might  be  some  reason  for  it.” 

Miss  Cunegund  could  scarcely  refrain  from  laughing  at  the  good  old  woman, 

35 


and  thought  it  droll  enough  to  pretend  to  a greater  share  of  misfortunes  than 
herself. 

“Alas!  my  good  dame,”  said  she,  “unless  you  have  been  ravished  by  two 
Bulgarians,  have  received  two  deep  wounds  in  your  belly,  have  seen  two  of  your 
own  castles  demolished,  and  beheld  two  fathers  and  two  mothers  barbarously 
murdered  before  your  eyes,  and,  to  sum  up  all,  have  had  two  lovers  whipped 
at  an  auto-da-fé,  I cannot  see  how  you  could  be  more  unfortunate  than  me. 
Add  to  this,  though  born  a baroness  and  bearing  seventy-two  quarterings,  I 
have  been  reduced  to  a cook-wench.” 

“Miss,”  replied  the  old  woman,  “you  do  not  know  my  family  as  yet;  but  if 
I were  to  show  you  my  backside,  you  would  not  talk  in  this  manner,  but  suspend 
your  judgment.” 

This  speech  raised  a high  curiosity  in  Candide  and  Cunegund;  and  the  old 
woman  continued  as  follows. 


CHAPTER  XI 


The  History  of  the  Old  Woman 

“I  have  not  always  been  blear-eyed.  My  nose  did  not  always  touch  my  chin, 
nor  was  I always  a servant.  You  must  know  that  I am  the  daughter  of  Pope 
Urban  X,  and  of  the  Princess  of  Palestrina.  Up  to  the  age  of  fourteen  I was 
brought  up  in  a castle,  compared  with  which  all  the  castles  of  the  German 
barons  would  not  have  been  fit  for  stabling,  and  one  of  my  robes  would  have 
bought  half  the  province  of  Westphalia.  I grew  in  beauty,  in  wit,  and  in  every 
graceful  accomplishment,  in  the  midst  of  pleasures,  homage,  and  the  highest 
expectations.  I already  began  to  inspire  the  men  with  love:  my  breast  began 
to  take  its  right  form;  and  such  a breast!  white,  firm,  and  formed  like  that  of 
Venus  of  Medici:  my  eyebrows  were  as  black  as  jet;  and  as  for  my  eyes,  they 
darted  flames,  and  eclipsed  the  lustre  of  the  stars,  as  I was  told  by  the  poets 
of  our  part  of  the  world.  My  maids,  when  they  dressed  and  undressed  me,  used 
to  fall  into  an  ecstasy  in  viewing  me  before  and  behind:  and  all  the  men  longed 
to  be  in  their  places. 

“I  was  contracted  to  a sovereign  prince  of  Massa-Carrara.  Such  a prince! 
as  handsome  as  myself,  sweet-tempered,  agreeable,  of  brilliant  wit,  and  in  love 
with  me  over  head  and  ears.  I loved  him  too,  as  our  sex  generally  do  for  the 
first  time,  with  transport  and  idolatry.  The  nuptials  were  prepared  with  sur- 
prising pomp  and  magnificence;  the  ceremony  was  attended  with  a succession 
of  feasts,  carousals,  and  burlesques:  all  Italy  composed  sonnets  in  my  praise, 
though  not  one  of  them  was  tolerable.  I was  on  the  point  of  reaching  the  sum- 
mit of  bliss,  when  an  old  marchioness  who  had  been  mistress  to  the  Prince  my 
husband  invited  him  to  drink  chocolate.  In  less  than  two  hours  after  he 

37 


returned  from  the  visit  he  died  of  most  terrible  convulsions:  but  this  is  a mere 
trifle.  My  mother,  in  despair,  and  yet  less  afflicted  than  me,  determined  to 
absent  herself  for  some  time  from  so  fatal  a place.  As  she  had  a very  fine  estate 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Gaeta,  we  embarked  on  board  a galley  which  was 
gilded  like  the  high  altar  of  St.  Peter’s  at  Rome.  In  our  passage  we  were  boarded 
by  a Sallee  corsair.  Our  men  defended  themselves  like  true  Pope’s  soldiers; 
they  flung  themselves  upon  their  knees,  laid  down  their  arms  and  begged  the 
corsair  to  give  them  absolution  in  articula  mortis. 

“The  Moors  presently  stripped  us  as  bare  as  monkeys.  My  mother,  my 
maids  of  honour,  and  myself,  were  served  all  in  the  same  manner.  It  is  amazing 
how  quick  these  gentry  are  at  undressing  people.  But  what  surprised  me  most 
was  that  they  thrust  their  fingers  into  that  part  of  our  bodies  where  we  women 
seldom  permit  anything  but  enemas  to  enter.  I thought  it  a very  strange  kind 
of  ceremony;  for  thus  we  are  generally  apt  to  judge  of  things  when  we  have  not 
seen  the  world.  I afterwards  learnt  that  it  was  to  discover  if  we  had  any  dia- 
monds concealed.  This  practice  has  been  established  since  time  immemorial 
among  those  civilized  nations  that  scour  the  seas.  I was  informed  that  the 
religious  Knights  of  Malta  never  fail  to  make  this  search,  whenever  any  Moors 
of  either  sex  fall  into  their  hands.  It  is  a part  of  the  law  of  nations  from  which 
they  never  deviate. 

“I  need  not  tell  you  how  great  a hardship  it  was  for  a young  princess  and 
her  mother  to  be  made  slaves  and  carried  to  Morocco.  You  may  easily  imagine 
what  we  must  have  suffered  on  board  a corsair.  Mv  mother  was  still  extremelv 

j j 

handsome,  our  maids  of  honour,  and  even  our  common  waiting-women,  had 
more  charms  than  were  to  be  found  in  all  Africa.  As  to  myself,  I was  enchanting; 
I was  beauty  itself,  and  then  I had  my  virginity.  But,  alas!  I did  not  retain  it 
long;  this  precious  flower,  which  was  reserved  for  the  lovely  Prince  of  Massa- 
Carrara,  was  cropped  by  the  captain  of  the  Moorish  vessel,  who  was  a hideous 
negro,  and  thought  he  did  me  infinite  honour.  Indeed,  both  the  Princess  of 
Palestrina  and  myself  must  have  had  very  strong  constitutions  to  undergo  all 
the  hardships  and  violences  we  suffered  till  our  arrival  at  Morocco.  But  I will 
not  detain  you  any  longer  with  such  common  things;  they  are  hardly  worth 
mentioning. 

“Upon  our  arrival  at  Morocco,  we  found  that  kingdom  bathed  in  blood. 
Fifty  sons  of  the  Emperor  Muley  Ishmael  were  each  at  the  head  of  a party. 
This  produced  fifty  civil  wars  of  blacks  against  blacks,  of  blacks  against  tawnies, 


of  tawnies  against  tawnies,  and  of  mulattoes  against  mulattoes.  In  short,  the 
whole  empire  was  one  continual  scene  of  carnage. 

“No  sooner  were  we  landed  than  a party  of  blacks,  of  a contrary  faction  to 
that  of  my  captain,  came  to  rob  him  of  his  booty.  Next  to  the  money  and 
jewels,  we  were  the  most  valuable  things  he  had.  I was  witness  on  this  occasion 
to  such  a battle  as  you  never  beheld  in  your  cold  European  climates.  The 
northern  nations  have  not  that  fermentation  in  their  blood,  nor  that  raging 
lust  for  women  that  is  so  common  in  Africa.  The  natives  of  Europe  seem  to 
have  their  veins  filled  with  milk  only;  but  fire  and  vitriol  circulate  in  those  of 
the  inhabitants  of  Mount  Atlas  and  the  neighbouring  provinces.  They  fought 
with  the  fury  of  the  lions,  tigers,  and  serpents  of  their  country,  to  know  who 
should  have  us.  A Moor  seized  my  mother  by  the  right  arm,  while  my  captain’s 
lieutenant  held  her  by  the  left;  another  Moor  laid  hold  of  her  by  one  leg,  and 
one  of  our  corsairs  held  her  by  the  other.  In  this  manner  were  almost  every 
one  of  our  women  dragged  between  soldiers.  My  captain  kept  me  concealed 
behind  him,  and  with  his  drawn  scimitar  cut  down  every  one  wrho  opposed 
him;  at  length  I saw'  all  our  Italian  women  and  my  mother  mangled  and  torn 
in  pieces  by  the  monsters  who  contended  for  them.  The  captives,  my  com- 
panions, the  Moors  who  had  taken  them,  the  soldiers,  the  sailors,  the  blacks, 
the  tawnies,  the  whites,  the  mulattoes,  and  lastly  my  captain  himself,  w'ere  all 
slain,  and  I remained  alone  expiring  upon  a heap  of  dead  bodies.  The  like 
barbarous  scenes  were  enacted  every  day  over  the  whole  country,  which  is  an 
extent  of  three  hundred  leagues,  and  yet  they  never  missed  the  five  stated 
times  of  prayer  enjoined  by  their  prophet  Mahomet. 

“I  disentangled  myself  with  great  difficulty  from  such  a heap  of  slaughtered 
bodies,  and  made  shift  to  crawl  to  a large  orange  tree  that  stood  on  the  bank 
of  a neighbouring  rivulet,  w'here  I fell  down  exhausted  with  terror,  and  over- 
whelmed wâth  horror,  despair,  and  hunger.  My  senses  being  overpowered,  I fell 
asleep,  or  rather  seemed  to  be  in  a trance.  Thus  I lay  in  a state  of  weakness  and 
insensibility'  between  life  and  death,  wffien  I felt  myself  pressed  by  something 
that  moved  up  and  down  upon  my  body.  This  brought  me  to  myself;  I opened 
my  eyes,  and  saw  a pretty  fair-faced  man,  who  sighed  and  muttered  these  words 
between  his  teeth,  ‘O  che  sci agura  d’essere  senza  cog/ioni/’  ” 


39 


CHAPTER  XII 


The  Adventures  of  the  Old  Woman  Continued 

“Astonished  and  delighted  to  hear  my  native  language,  and  no  less  surprised 
at  the  young  man’s  words,  I told  him  that  there  were  far  greater  misfortunes  in 
the  world  than  what  he  complained  of.  And  to  convince  him  of  it,  I gave  him 
a short  history  of  the  horrible  disasters  that  had  befallen  me;  and  again  fell  into 
a swoon.  He  carried  me  in  his  arms  to  a neighbouring  cottage,  where  he  had 
me  put  to  bed,  procured  me  something  to  eat,  waited  on  me,  comforted  me, 
caressed  me,  told  me  that  he  had  never  seen  anything  so  perfectly  beautiful  as 
myself,  and  that  he  had  never  so  much  regretted  the  loss  of  what  no  one  could 
restore  to  him. 

“ ‘I  was  born  at  Naples,’  said  he,  ‘where  they  caponize  two  or  three  thousand 
children  every  year:  several  die  of  the  operation;  some  acquire  voices  far  beyond 
the  most  tuneful  of  your  ladies;  and  others  are  sent  to  govern  states  and  em- 
pires. I underwent  this  operation  very  happily,  and  was  one  of  the  singers  in 
the  Princess  of  Palestrina’s  chapel.’ 

“ ‘How,’  cried  I,  ‘in  my  mother’s  chapel!’ 

“ ‘The  Princess  of  Palestrina,  your  mother!’  cried  he,  bursting  into  a flood  of 
tears,  ‘is  it  possible  you  should  be  the  beautiful  young  princess  whom  I had  the 

4° 


care  of  bringing  up  till  she  was  six  years  old,  and  who,  at  that  tender  age,  prom- 
ised to  be  as  fair  as  I now  behold  you?' 

“ ‘I  am  the  same,’  I replied.  ‘My  mother  lies  about  a hundred  yards  from 
here,  cut  in  pieces,  and  buried  under  a heap  of  dead  bodies.’ 

“I  then  related  to  him  all  that  had  befallen  me,  and  he  in  return  acquainted 
me  with  all  his  adventures,  and  how  he  had  been  sent  to  the  court  of  the  King 
of  Morocco  by  a Christian  prince  to  conclude  a treaty  with  that  monarch;  in 
consequence  of  which  he  was  to  be  furnished  with  military  stores,  and  ships  to 
enable  him  to  destroy  the  commerce  of  other  Christian  governments. 

“ ‘I  have  executed  my  commission,’  said  the  eunuch;  ‘I  am  going  to  take 
shipping  at  Ceuta,  and  I’ll  take  you  along  with  me  to  Italy.  Ala  c he  scia gura 
d’essere  sen za  coglioni/’ 

“I  thanked  him  with  tears  of  joy;  but,  instead  of  taking  me  with  him  into 
Italy,  he  carried  me  to  Algiers,  and  sold  me  to  the  dey  of  that  province.  I had 
not  been  long  a slave  when  the  plague,  which  had  made  the  tour  of  Africa, 
Asia,  and  Europe,  broke  out  at  Algiers  with  redoubled  fury.  You  have  seen  an 
earthquake;  but  tell  me,  miss,  had  you  ever  the  plague?” 

“Never,”  answered  the  young  Baroness. 

“If  you  ever  had,”  continued  the  old  woman,  “you  would  own  an  earthquake 
was  a trifle  to  it.  It  is  very  common  in  Africa;  I was  seized  with  it.  Figure  to 
yourself  the  situation  of  the  daughter  of  a pope,  only  fifteen  years  old,  and  who 
in  less  than  three  months  had  felt  the  miseries  of  poverty  and  slavery;  had  been 
ravished  almost  every  day;  had  beheld  her  mother  cut  into  four  quarters;  had 
experienced  the  scourges  of  famine  and  war,  and  was  now  dying  of  the  plague 
at  Algiers.  I did  not,  however,  die  of  it;  but  my  eunuch,  and  the  dey,  and  almost 
the  whole  seraglio  of  Algiers,  were  swept  off. 

“As  soon  as  the  first  fury  of  this  dreadful  pestilence  was  over,  a sale  was  made 
of  the  dey’s  slaves.  I was  purchased  by  a merchant,  who  carried  me  to  Tunis. 
This  man  sold  me  to  another  merchant,  who  sold  me  again  to  another  at 
Tripoli;  from  Tripoli  I was  sold  to  Alexandria,  from  Alexandria  to  Smyrna,  and 
from  Smyrna  to  Constantinople.  After  many  changes,  I at  length  became  the 
property  of  an  aga  of  the  janissaries,  who,  soon  after  I came  into  his  possession, 
was  ordered  away  to  the  defence  of  Azov,  then  besieged  by  the  Russians. 

“The  aga  being  fond  of  women,  took  his  whole  seraglio  with  him,  and 
lodged  us  in  a small  fort  on  Lake  Maeotis,  with  two  black  eunuchs  and  twenty 
soldiers  for  our  guard.  Our  army  made  a great  slaughter  among  the  Russians, 

41 


but  they  soon  returned  us  the  compliment.  Azov  was  taken  by  storm,  and  the 
enemy  spared  neither  age  nor  sex,  but  put  all  to  the  sword,  and  laid  the  city  in 
ashes.  Our  little  fort  alone  held  out;  they  resolved  to  reduce  us  by  famine.  The 
twenty  janissaries  had  bound  themselves  by  an  oath  never  to  surrender  the 
place.  Being  reduced  to  the  extremity  of  famine,  they  found  themselves 
obliged  to  eat  two  eunuchs  rather  than  violate  their  oath.  After  a few  days  they 
determined  to  devour  the  women. 

“We  had  a very'  pious  and  humane  imam,  who  made  them  a most  excellent 
sermon  on  this  occasion,  exhorting  them  not  to  kill  us  all  at  once. 

“ ‘Only  cut  off  one  of  the  buttocks  of  each  of  those  ladies,’  said  he,  ‘and  you 
will  fare  extremely  well;  if  ye  are  still  under  the  necessity  of  having  recourse  to 
the  same  expedient  again,  ye  will  find  the  like  supply  a few  days  hence.  Heaven 
will  approve  of  so  charitable  an  action,  and  work  your  deliverance.’ 

“By  the  force  of  this  eloquence  he  easily  persuaded  them,  and  all  underwent 
the  operation.  The  imam  applied  the  same  balsam  as  they  do  to  children 
after  circumcision.  We  were  all  ready  to  give  up  the  ghost. 

“The  janissaries  had  scarcely  time  to  finish  the  repast  with  which  we  had 
supplied  them,  when  the  Russians  attacked  the  place  by  means  of  flat-bottomed 
boats,  and  not  a single  janissary  escaped.  The  Russians  paid  no  regard  to  the 
condition  we  were  in;  but  as  there  are  French  surgeons  in  all  parts  of  the  world, 
a skilful  operator  took  us  under  his  care,  and  made  a cure  of  us;  and  I shall 
never  forget,  while  I live,  that  as  soon  as  my  wounds  were  perfectly  healed,  he 
made  me  certain  proposals.  In  general,  he  desired  us  all  to  have  a good  heart, 
assuring  us  that  the  like  had  happened  in  many  sieges;  and  that  it  was  the  law 
of  war. 

“As  soon  as  my  companions  were  in  a condition  to  walk,  they  were  sent  to 
Moscow.  As  for  me,  I fell  to  the  lot  of  a boyard,  who  put  me  to  work  in  his 
garden,  and  gave  me  twenty  lashes  a-day.  But  this  nobleman  having,  in  about 
two  years  afterwards,  been  broken  alive  upon  the  wheel,  with  about  thirty 
others,  for  some  court  intrigues,  I took  advantage  of  the  event,  and  made  my 
escape.  I travelled  over  a great  part  of  Russia.  I was  a long  time  an  innkeeper’s 
servant  at  Riga,  then  at  Rostock,  Wismar,  Leipsic,  Cassel,  Utrecht,  Leyden, 
The  Hague,  and  Rotterdam:  I have  grown  old  in  misery  and  disgrace,  living 
with  only  one  buttock,  and  in  the  perpetual  remembrance  that  I was  a pope’s 
daughter.  I have  been  an  hundred  times  upon  the  point  of  killing  myself,  but 
still  was  fond  of  life.  This  ridiculous  weakness  is,  perhaps,  one  of  the  dangerous 
42 


principles  implanted  in  our  nature.  For  what  can  be  more  absurd  than  to 
persist  in  carrying  a burden  of  which  we  wish  to  be  eased?  to  detest,  and  yet  to 
strive  to  preserve  our  existence?  In  a word,  to  caress  the  serpent  that  devours  us, 
and  hug  him  close  to  our  bosoms  till  he  has  gnawed  into  our  hearts? 

“In  the  different  countries  which  it  has  been  my  fate  to  traverse,  and  the 
many  inns  where  I have  been  a servant,  I have  observed  a prodigious  number 
of  people  who  held  their  existence  in  abhorrence,  and  yet  I never  knew  more 
than  twelve  who  voluntarily  put  an  end  to  their  misery;  namely,  three  negroes, 
four  Englishmen,  as  many  Genoese,  and  a German  professor  named  Robek. 
My  last  place  was  with  the  Jew,  Don  Issachar,  who  placed  me  near  your  person, 
my  fair  lady;  to  your  fortunes  I have  attached  myself,  and  have  been  more 
affected  by  your  adventures  than  my  own.  I should  never  have  even  mentioned 
the  latter  to  you,  had  you  not  a little  piqued  me  on  the  head  of  sufferings;  and  if 
it  were  not  customary  to  tell  stories  on  board  a ship  in  order  to  pass  away  the 
time.  In  short,  my  dear  miss,  I have  a great  deal  of  knowledge  and  experience 
of  the  world,  therefore  take  my  advice;  divert  yourself,  and  prevail  upon  each 
passenger  to  tell  his  story,  and  if  there  is  one  of  them  all  that  has  not  cursed  his 
existence  many  times,  and  said  to  himself  over  and  over  again,  that  he  was  the 
most  wretched  of  mortals,  I give  you  leave  to  throw  me  headforemost  into  the 
sea.” 


43 


CHAPTER  XIII 

How  Candide  Was  Obliged  to  Leave  the  Fair  Cunegund 
and  the  Old  Woman 

The  fair  Cunegund,  being  thus  made  acquainted  with  the  history  of  the  old 
woman’s  life  and  adventures,  paid  her  all  the  respect  and  civility  due  to  a 
person  of  her  rank  and  merit.  She  very  readily  came  into  her  proposal  of  en- 
gaging every  one  of  the  passengers  to  relate  their  adventures  in  their  turns,  and 
was  at  length,  as  well  as  Candide,  compelled  to  acknowledge  that  the  old 
woman  was  in  the  right. 

“It  is  a thousand  pities,”  said  Candide,  “that  the  sage  Pangloss  should  have 
been  hanged  contrary  to  the  custom  of  an  auto-da-fé,  for  he  would  have  read 

44 


us  a most  admirable  lecture  on  the  moral  and  physical  evil  which  overspreads 
the  earth  and  sea;  and  I think  I should  have  courage  enough  to  presume  to 
offer  (with  all  due  respect)  some  few  objections.” 

While  everyone  was  reciting  his  adventures,  the  ship  continued  her  way, 
and  at  length  arrived  at  Buenos  Ayres,  where  Cunegund,  Captain  Candide, 
and  the  old  woman,  landed  and  went  to  wait  upon  the  Governor  Don  Fer- 
nando d'Ibaraa  y Figueora  y Mascarenas  y Lampourdos  y Souza.  This  noble- 
man carried  himself  with  a haughtiness  suitable  to  a person  who  bore  so  many 
names.  He  spoke  with  the  most  noble  disdain  to  every  one,  carried  his  nose  so 
high,  strained  his  voice  to  such  a pitch,  assumed  so  imperious  an  air,  and 
stalked  with  so  much  loftiness  and  pride,  that  every  one  who  had  the  honour  of 
conversing  with  him  was  violently  tempted  to  bastinade  his  Excellency.  He 
was  immoderately  fond  of  women,  and  Cunegund  appeared  in  his  eyes  a par- 
agon of  beauty.  The  first  thing  he  did  was  to  ask  her  if  she  was  the  captain’s 
wife.  The  air  with  which  he  made  this  demand  alarmed  Candide;  he  did  not 
dare  to  say  he  was  married  to  her,  because,  indeed,  he  was  not;  neither  durst  he 
say  she  was  his  sister,  because  she  was  not  that  either:  and  though  a lie  of  this 
nature  proved  of  great  service  to  one  of  the  ancients,  and  might  possibly  be 
useful  to  some  of  the  moderns,  yet  the  purity  of  his  heart  would  not  permit  him 
to  violate  the  truth. 

“Miss  Cunegund,”  replied  he,  “is  to  do  me  the  honour  of  marrying  me,  and 
we  humbly  beseech  your  Excellency  to  condescend  to  grace  the  ceremony 
with  your  presence.” 

Don  Fernando  d’Ibaraa  y Figueora  y Mascarenas  y Lampourdos  y Souza, 
twirling  his  mustachio,  and  putting  on  a sarcastic  smile,  ordered  Captain 
Candide  to  go  and  review  his  company.  Candide  obeyed,  and  the  Governor 
was  left  with  Miss  Cunegund.  He  made  her  a strong  declaration  of  love,  pro- 
testing that  he  was  ready  on  the  morrow  to  give  her  his  hand  in  the  face  of  the 
Church,  or  otherwise,  as  should  appear  most  agreeable  to  a young  lady  of  her 
prodigious  beauty.  Cunegund  desired  leave  to  retire  a quarter  of  an  hour  to 
consult  the  old  woman,  and  determine  how  she  should  proceed. 

The  old  woman  gave  her  the  following  counsel:  “Miss,  you  have  seventy- 
two  quarterings  in  your  arms,  it  is  true,  but  you  have  not  a penny  to  bless  your- 
self with:  it  is  your  own  fault  if  you  are  not  wife  to  one  of  the  greatest  noblemen 
in  South  America,  with  an  exceeding  fine  mustachio.  What  business  have  you 
to  pride  yourself  upon  an  unshaken  constancy?  You  have  been  ravished  by  a 

45 


Bulgarian  soldier;  a Jew  and  an  Inquisitor  have  both  tasted  of  your  favours. 
People  take  advantage  of  misfortunes.  I must  confess,  were  I in  your  place,  I 
should,  without  the  least  scruple,  give  my  hand  to  the  Governor,  and  thereby 
make  the  fortune  of  the  brave  Captain  Candide.” 

While  the  old  woman  was  thus  haranguing,  with  all  the  prudence  that  old 
age  and  experience  furnish,  a small  bark  entered  the  harbour,  in  which  was  a 
magistrate  and  his  alguazils.  Matters  had  fallen  out  as  follows: 

The  old  woman  rightly  guessed  that  the  cordelier  with  the  long  sleeves  was 
the  person  who  had  taken  Cunegund’s  money  and  jewels  while  they  and 
Candide  were  at  Badajoz,  in  their  hasty  flight  from  Lisbon.  This  same  friar 
attempted  to  sell  some  of  the  diamonds  to  a jeweller,  who  at  once  knew  them 
to  have  belonged  to  the  Grand  Inquisitor.  The  cordelier,  before  he  was  hanged, 
confessed  that  he  had  stolen  them,  and  described  the  persons,  and  the  road 
they  had  taken.  The  flight  of  Cunegund  and  Candide  was  already  the  town- 
talk.  They  sent  in  pursuit  of  them  to  Cadiz;  and  the  vessel  which  had  been 
sent,  to  make  the  greater  dispatch,  had  now  reached  the  port  of  Buenos  Ayres. 
A report  was  spread  that  a magistrate  was  going  to  land,  and  that  he  was  in 
pursuit  of  the  murderers  of  my  lord  the  Grand  Inquisitor.  The  wise  old  woman 
immediately  saw  what  was  to  be  done. 

“You  cannot  run  away,”  said  she  to  Cunegund;  “but  you  have  nothing  to 
fear;  it  was  not  you  who  killed  my  lord  Inquisitor:  besides,  as  the  Governor  is 
in  love  with  you,  he  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  ill-treated;  therefore  stand  your 
ground.” 

Then  hurrying  away  to  Candide,  “Be  gone,”  said  she,  “from  hence  this 
instant,  or  you  will  be  burnt  alive.” 

Candide  found  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost;  but  how  could  he  part  from 
Cunegund,  and  whither  must  he  fly  for  shelter? 


46 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  Reception  Candide  and  Cacambo  Met  with  Among 
the  Jesuits  in  Paraguay 

Candide  had  brought  with  him  from  Cadiz  such  a footman  as  one  often  meets 
with  on  the  coasts  of  Spain  and  in  the  colonies.  He  was  the  fourth  part  of  a 
Spaniard,  of  a mongrel  breed,  and  born  in  Tucuman.  He  had  successively  gone 
through  the  profession  of  a choirboy,  sexton,  sailor,  monk,  pedlar,  soldier,  and 
lackey.  His  name  was  Cacambo;  he  had  a great  affection  for  his  master  be- 

47 


cause  his  master  was  a mighty  good  man.  He  immediately  saddled  the  two 
Andalusian  horses. 

“Come,  my  good  master,’’  he  said,  “let  us  follow  the  old  woman’s  advice, 
and  make  all  the  haste  we  can  from  this  place,  without  staying  to  look  behind 
us.” 

Candide  burst  into  a flood  of  tears. 

“O  my  dear  Cunegund,  must  I then  be  compelled  to  quit  you,  just  as  the 
Governor  was  going  to  honour  us  with  his  presence  at  our  wedding!  Cune- 
gund, so  long  lost,  and  found  again,  what  will  become  of  you?” 

“Lord!”  said  Cacambo,  “she  must  do  as  well  as  she  can;  women  are  never 
at  a loss.  God  takes  care  of  them,  and  so  let  us  make  the  best  of  our  way.” 

“But  whither  wilt  thou  carry  me?  Where  can  we  go?  What  can  we  do 
without  Cunegund?”  cried  the  disconsolate  Candide. 

“By  St.  James  of  Compostella,”  said  Cacambo,  “you  were  going  to  fight 
against  the  Jesuits  of  Paraguay;  now,  let  us  go  and  fight  for  them:  I know  the 
road  perfectly  well;  I’ll  conduct  you  to  their  kingdom;  they  will  be  delighted 
with  a captain  that  understands  the  Bulgarian  exercise;  you  will  certainly  make  a 
prodigious  fortune.  If  we  cannot  find  our  account  in  one  world,  we  may  in 
another.  It  is  a great  pleasure  to  see  new  objects,  and  perform  new  exploits.” 

“Then  you  have  been  in  Paraguay?”  said  Candide. 

“Ay,  marry,  have  I,”  replied  Cacambo:  “I  was  a scout  in  the  College  of  the 
Assumption,  and  I am  as  well  acquainted  with  the  new  government  of  Los 
Padres  as  I am  with  the  streets  of  Cadiz.  Oh,  it  is  an  admirable  government,  that 
is  most  certain!  The  kingdom  is  at  present  upwards  of  three  hundred  leagues 
in  diameter,  and  divided  into  thirty  provinces;  the  fathers  are  there  masters  of 
everything,  and  the  people  have  no  money  at  all;  this  is  the  masterpiece  of  jus- 
tice and  reason.  For  my  part,  I see  nothing  so  divine  as  the  good  fathers,  who 
wage  war  in  this  part  of  the  world  against  the  King  of  Spain  and  the  King  of 
Portugal,  at  the  same  time  that  they  hear  the  confessions  of  those  very  princes 
in  Europe;  who  kill  Spaniards  in  America,  and  send  them  to  Heaven  in  Madrid. 
This  pleases  me  exceedingly,  but  let  us  push  forward;  you  are  going  to  be  most 
fortunate  of  all  mortals.  How  charmed  will  those  fathers  be  to  hear  that  a 
captain  who  understands  the  Bulgarian  exercise  is  coming  among  them!” 

As  soon  as  they  reached  the  first  barrier,  Cacambo  called  to  the  advance 
guard,  and  told  them  that  a captain  wanted  to  speak  to  my  Lord  the  General. 
Notice  was  given  to  the  main  guard,  and  immediately  a Paraguayan  officer  ran 

48 


to  throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  Commandant  to  impart  this  news  to  him. 
Candide  and  Cacambo  were  immediately  disarmed,  and  their  two  Andalusian 
horses  were  seized.  The  two  strangers  were  now  conducted  between  two  files 
of  musketeers,  the  Commandant  was  at  the  farther  end  with  a three-cornered 
cap  on  his  head,  his  gown  tucked  up,  a sword  by  his  side,  and  a half-pike  in  his 
hand;  he  made  a sign,  and  instantly  four-and-twenty  soldiers  drew  up  round 
the  newcomers.  A sergeant  told  them  that  they  must  wait,  the  Commandant 
could  not  speak  to  them;  and  that  the  Reverend  Father  Provincial  did  not  suffer 
any  Spaniard  to  open  his  mouth  but  in  his  presence,  or  to  stay  above  three  hours 
in  the  province. 

“And  where  is  the  Reverend  Father  Provincial?”  said  Cacambo. 

“He  is  just  come  from  mass,  and  is  at  the  parade,”  replied  the  sergeant,  “and 
in  about  three  hours’  time,  you  may  possibly  have  the  honour  to  kiss  his  spurs.” 
“But,”  said  Cacambo,  “the  captain,  who,  as  well  as  myself,  is  perishing  with 
hunger,  is  no  Spaniard,  but  a German;  therefore,  pray,  might  we  not  be  per- 
mitted to  break  our  fast  till  we  can  be  introduced  to  his  Reverence?” 

The  sergeant  immediately  went,  and  acquainted  the  Commandant  with 
what  he  heard. 

“God  be  praised,”  said  the  Reverend  Commandant,  “since  he  is  a German,  I 
will  hear  what  he  has  to  say;  let  him  be  brought  to  my  arbour.” 

Immediately  they  conducted  Candide  to  a beautiful  pavilion,  adorned  with 
a colonnade  of  green  and  gold  marble,  and  with  trellisses  of  vines,  which  served 
as  a kind  of  cage  for  parrots,  humming-birds,  fly-birds,  guinea-hens,  and  all 
other  curious  kinds  of  birds.  An  excellent  breakfast  was  provided  in  vessels  of 
gold;  and  while  the  Paraguayans  were  eating  coarse  Indian  corn  out  of  wooden 
dishes  in  the  open  air,  and  exposed  to  the  burning  heat  of  the  sun,  the  Reverend 
Father  Commandant  retired  to  his  cool  arbour. 

He  was  a very  handsome  young  man,  round-faced,  fair,  and  fresh-coloured, 
his  eyebrows  were  finely  arched,  he  had  a piercing  eye,  the  tips  of  his  ears  were 
red,  his  lips  vermilion,  and  he  had  a bold  and  commanding  air;  but  such  a bold- 
ness as  neither  resembled  that  of  a Spaniard  nor  of  a Jesuit.  He  ordered  Can- 
dide and  Cacambo  to  have  their  arms  restored  to  them,  together  with  their  two 
Andalusian  horses.  Cacambo  gave  the  poor  beasts  some  oats  to  eat  close  by 
the  arbour,  keeping  a strict  eye  upon  them  all  the  while  for  fear  of  surprise. 

Candide  having  kissed  the  hem  of  the  Commandant’s  robe,  they  sat  down 
to  table. 


49 


“It  seems  you  are  a German?”  said  the  Jesuit  to  him  in  that  language. 

“Yes,  Reverend  Father,”  answered  Candide. 

As  they  pronounced  these  words,  they  looked  at  each  other  with  great  amaze- 
ment, and  with  an  emotion  that  neither  could  conceal. 

“From  what  part  of  Germany  do  you  come?”  said  the  Jesuit. 

“From  the  dirty  province  of  Westphalia,”  answered  Candide:  “I  was  born 
in  the  castle  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh.” 

“Oh  heavens!  is  it  possible?”  said  the  Commandant. 

“What  a miracle!”  cried  Candide. 

“Can  it  be  you?”  said  the  Commandant. 

On  this  they  both  retired  a few  steps  backwards,  then  embraced,  and  let 
fall  a shower  of  tears. 

“Is  it  you  then,  Reverend  Father?  You  are  the  brother  of  the  fair  Cune- 
gund?  you  who  were  slain  by  the  Bulgarians!  you  the  Baron’s  son!  you  a 
Jesuit  in  Paraguay!  I must  confess  this  is  a strange  world  we  live  in.  O Pangloss! 
Pangloss!  what  joy  would  this  have  given  you,  if  you  had  not  been  hanged.” 

The  Commandant  dismissed  the  negro  slaves,  and  the  Paraguayans  who 
were  presenting  them  with  liquor  in  crystal  goblets.  He  returned  thanks  to 
God  and  St.  Ignatius  a thousand  times;  he  clasped  Candide  in  his  arms,  and 
both  their  faces  were  bathed  in  tears. 

“You  will  be  more  surprised,  more  affected,  more  transported,”  said  Can- 
dide, “when  I tell  you  that  Miss  Cunegund,  your  sister,  whose  belly  was  sup- 
posed to  have  been  ripped  open,  is  in  perfect  health.” 

“Where?” 

“In  your  neighbourhood,  with  the  Governor  of  Buenos  Ayres;  and  I my- 
self was  going  to  fight  against  you.” 

Every  word  they  uttered  during  this  long  conversation  was  productive  of 
some  new  matter  of  astonishment.  Their  souls  fluttered  on  their  tongues, 
listened  in  their  ears,  and  sparkled  in  their  eyes.  Like  true  Germans,  they  con- 
tinued a long  time  at  table,  waiting  for  the  Reverend  Father  Provincial;  and 
the  Commandant  spoke  to  his  dear  Candide  as  follows: 


CHAPTER  XV 

How  Candide  Killed  the  Brother  of  His  Dear  Cunegund 

“Never  while  I live  shall  I lose  the  remembrance  of  that  horrible  day  on  which 
I saw  my  father  and  mother  barbarously  butchered  before  my  eyes,  and  my 
sister  ravished.  When  the  Bulgarians  retired,  we  found  no  sign  of  my  dear 
sister;  but  the  bodies  of  my  father,  mother,  and  myself,  with  two  servant  maids, 
and  three  little  boys  with  their  throats  cut,  were  thrown  into  a cart,  to  be  buried 
in  a chapel  belonging  to  the  Jesuits,  within  two  leagues  of  our  family  seat.  A 
Jesuit  sprinkled  us  with  some  holy  water,  which  was  confoundedly  salt,  and  a 
few  drops  of  it  went  into  my  eyes:  the  father  perceived  that  my  eyelids  stirred 
a little;  he  put  his  hand  on  my  breast,  and  felt  my  heart  beat;  upon  which  he 
gave  me  proper  assistance,  and  at  the  end  of  three  weeks  I was  perfectly  re- 
covered. You  know,  my  dear  Candide,  I was  very  handsome;  I became  still 
more  so,  and  the  Reverend  Father  Croust,  Superior  of  the  House,  took  a great 
fancy  to  me;  he  gave  me  a novice’s  habit,  and  some  years  afterwards  I was  sent 
to  Rome.  Our  general  stood  in  need  of  new  levies  of  young  German  Jesuits. 
The  sovereigns  of  Paraguay  admit  as  few  Spanish  Jesuits  as  possible;  they  prefer 
those  of  other  nations,  as  being  more  obedient  to  command.  The  Reverend 
Father  General  looked  upon  me  as  a proper  person  to  work  in  that  vineyard.  I 

51 


set  out  in  company  with  a Pole  and  a Tyrolese.  Upon  my  arrival,  I was  honoured 
with  a subdeaconship  and  a lieutenancy.  Now  I am  colonel  and  priest.  We 
shall  give  a warm  reception  to  the  King  of  Spain’s  troops;  I can  assure  you,  they 
will  be  well  excommunicated  and  beaten.  Providence  has  sent  you  hither  to 
assist  us.  But  is  it  true  that  my  dear  sister  Cunegund  is  in  the  neighbourhood 
with  the  Governor  of  Buenos  Ayres?” 

Candide  swore  that  nothing  could  be  more  true;  and  the  tears  began  again 
to  trickle  down  their  cheeks. 

The  Baron  knew  no  end  of  embracing  Candide:  he  called  him  his  brother, 
his  deliverer. 

“Perhaps,”  said  he,  “my  dear  Candide,  we  shall  be  fortunate  enough  to 
enter  the  town  sword  in  hand,  and  rescue  my  sister  Cunegund.” 

“Ah!  that  would  crown  my  wishes,”  replied  Candide,  “for  I intended  to 
marry  her;  and  I hope  I shall  still  be  able  to  do  so.” 

“Insolent  fellow!”  replied  the  Baron.  “You!  you  have  the  impudence  to 
marry  my  sister,  who  bears  seventy-two  quarterings!  I think  you  have  an  in- 
sufferable degree  of  assurance  to  dare  so  much  as  to  mention  such  an  audacious 
design  to  me.” 

Candide,  thunder-struck  at  the  oddness  of  this  speech,  answered,  “Reverend 
Father,  all  the  quarterings  in  the  world  are  of  no  significance.  I have  delivered 
your  sister  from  a Jew  and  an  Inquisitor;  she  is  under  many  obligations  to  me, 
and  she  is  resolved  to  give  me  her  hand.  Master  Pangloss  always  told  me  that 
mankind  are  by  nature  equal.  Therefore,  you  may  depend  upon  it,  that  I will 
marry  your  sister.” 

“We  shall  see  about  that,  villain!”  said  the  Jesuit  Baron  of  Thunder-ten- 
tronckh,  and  struck  him  across  the  face  with  the  flat  side  of  his  sword. 

Candide,  in  an  instant,  drew  his  rapier,  and  plunged  it  up  to  the  hilt  in  the 
Jesuit’s  body;  but,  in  pulling  it  out  reeking  hot,  he  burst  into  tears. 

“Good  God!”  cried  he,  “I  have  killed  my  old  master,  my  friend,  my  brother- 
in-law;  I am  the  mildest  man  in  the  world,  and  yet  I have  already  killed  three 
men;  and  of  these  three  two  were  priests.” 

Cacambo,  standing  sentry  near  the  door  of  the  arbour,  instantly  ran  up. 
“Nothing  remains,”  said  his  master,  “but  to  sell  our  lives  as  dearly  as  pos- 
sible; they  will  undoubtedly  look  into  the  arbour;  we  must  die  sword  in  hand.” 
Cacambo,  who  had  seen  many  of  these  kind  of  adventures,  was  not  dis- 
couraged! He  stripped  the  Baron  of  his  Jesuit’s  habit,  and  put  it  upon  Can- 

52 


(Me,  then  gave  him  the  dead  man's  three-cornered  cap,  and  made  him  mount 
on  horseback.  All  this  was  done  as  quick  as  thought. 

Gallop,  master,”  cned  Cacambo;  “everybody  will  take  you  for  a Jesuit  going 

to  give  orders;  and  we  shall  have  passed  the  frontiers  before  they  are  able  to 
overtake  us.  } 


He  flew  as  he  spoke  these  words,  crying  out  aloud  in  Spanish,  “Make  way 
make  way  for  the  Reverend  Father  Colonel.” 


53 


CHAPTER  XVI 

What  Happened  to  Our  Two  Travellers  with  Two  Girls,  Two  Monkeys, 

and  the  Savages,  Called  Oreillons 

Candide  and  his  servant  had  already  passed  the  frontiers  before  it  was  known 
that  the  German  Jesuit  was  dead.  The  wary  Cacambo  had  taken  care  to  fill  his 
wallet  with  bread,  chocolate,  ham,  fruit,  and  a few  bottles  of  wine.  They  pene- 
trated with  their  Andalusian  horses  into  a strange  country  where  they  could 
discover  no  beaten  path.  At  length,  a beautiful  meadow,  intersected  with 
streams,  opened  to  their  view.  Our  two  travellers  allowed  their  steeds  to  graze. 
Cacambo  urged  his  master  to  take  some  food,  and  he  set  him  an  example. 

“How  can  you  desire  me  to  eat  ham,  when  I have  killed  the  son  of  my  Lord 
the  Baron,  and  am  doomed  never  more  to  see  the  beautiful  Cunegund?  What 
will  it  avail  me  to  prolong  a wretched  life  that  might  be  spent  far  from  her 
in  remorse  and  despair;  and  then,  what  will  the  Journal  of  Trévoux  say?”  * 
While  he  was  making  these  reflections,  he  still  continued  eating.  The  sun 
was  now  on  the  point  of  setting,  when  the  ears  of  our  two  wanderers  were 
assailed  with  cries  which  seemed  to  be  uttered  by  a female  voice.  They  could 
not  tell  whether  these  were  cries  of  grief  or  joy:  however,  they  instantly  started 

• A periodical  critique  on  the  works  of  the  learned,  executed  by  Jesuits. 

54 


up,  full  of  that  uneasiness  and  apprehension  which  a strange  place  inspires. 
The  cries  proceeded  from  two  young  women  who  were  tripping  stark  naked 
on  the  edge  of  the  prairie,  while  two  monkeys  followed  close  at  their  heels 
biting  their  buttocks.  Candide  was  touched  with  compassion;  he  had  learned 
to  shoot  while  he  was  among  the  Bulgarians,  and  he  could  hit  a filbert  in  a 
hedge  without  touching  a leaf.  Accordingly,  he  took  up  his  double-barrelled 
Spanish  musket,  pulled  the  trigger,  and  laid  the  two  monkeys  lifeless  on  the 
ground. 

“God  be  praised,  my  dear  Cacambo,  I have  rescued  two  poor  girls  from 
a most  perilous  situation:  if  I have  committed  a sin  in  killing  an  Inquisitor 
and  a Jesuit,  I made  ample  amends  by  saving  the  lives  of  these  two  girls.  Who 
knows  but  they  may  be  young  ladies  of  a good  family,  and  that  this  assistance 
I have  been  so  happy  to  give  them  may  procure  us  great  advantage  in  this 
country.” 

He  was  about  to  continue,  when  he  felt  himself  struck  speechless  at  seeing 
the  two  girls  embracing  the  dead  bodies  of  the  monkeys  in  the  tenderest 
manner,  bathing  their  wounds  with  their  tears,  and  rending  the  air  with  the 
most  doleful  lamentations. 

“Really,”  said  he  to  Cacambo,  “I  should  not  have  expected  to  see  such  a 
prodigious  share  of  good  nature.” 

“Master,”  replied  Cacambo,  “you  have  made  a precious  piece  of  work  of  it; 
do  you  know  that  you  have  killed  the  lovers  of  these  two  ladies!’’ 

“Their  lovers!  Cacambo,  you  are  jesting!  it  cannot  be!  I can  never 
believe  it.” 

“Dear  Sir,”  replied  Cacambo,  “you  are  surprised  at  everything;  why  should 
you  think  it  so  strange  that  there  should  be  a country  where  monkeys  insinuate 
themselves  into  the  good  graces  of  the  ladies?  1 hey  are  the  fourth  part  of  a 
man  as  I am  the  fourth  part  of  a Spaniard.” 

“Alas!”  replied  Candide,  “I  remember  to  have  heard  Master  Pangloss  say 
that  such  accidents  as  these  frequently  came  to  pass  in  former  times,  and  that 
these  commixtures  are  productive  of  centaurs,  fauns,  and  satyrs;  and  that 
many  of  the  ancients  had  seen  such  monsters:  but  I looked  upon  the  whole 
as  fabulous.” 

“Now  you  are  convinced,”  said  Cacambo,  “that  it  is  very  true,  and  you 
see  what  use  is  made  of  those  creatures  by  persons  who  have  not  had  a proper 

55 


education:  all  I am  afraid  of  is  that  these  same  ladies  will  play  us  some 
ugly  trick/' 

These  judicious  reflections  operated  so  far  on  Candide,  as  to  make  him 
quit  the  meadow  and  strike  into  a thicket.  There  he  and  Cacambo  supped, 
and  after  heartily  cursing  the  Grand  Inquisitor,  the  Governor  of  Buenos  Ayres, 
and  the  Baron,  they  fell  asleep  on  the  ground.  When  they  awoke,  they  were 
surprised  to  find  that  they  could  not  move;  the  reason  was  that  the  Oreillons 
who  inhabit  that  country,  and  to  whom  the  two  girls  had  denounced  them,  had 


bound  them  with  cords  made  of  the  bark  of  trees.  They  were  surrounded  by 
fifty  naked  Oreillons  armed  with  bows  and  arrows,  clubs,  and  hatchets  of  flint; 
some  were  making  a fire  under  a large  cauldron;  and  others  were  preparing 
spits,  crying  out  one  and  all,  “A  Jesuit!  a Jesuit!  We  shall  be  revenged;  we 
shall  have  excellent  cheer;  let  us  eat  this  Jesuit;  let  us  eat  him  up.” 

“I  told  you,  master,”  cried  Cacambo  mournfully,  “that  those  two  wenches 
would  play  us  some  scurvy  trick.” 

56 


Candide,  seeing  the  cauldron  and  the  spits,  cried  out,  “I  suppose  they  are 
going  either  to  boil  or  roast  us.  Ah!  what  would  Master  Pangloss  say  if  he  w-ere 
to  see  how  pure  nature  is  formed!  Everything  is  right:  it  may  be  so:  but  I must 
confess  it  is  something  hard  to  be  bereft  of  Miss  Cuncgund,  and  to  be  spitted 
by  these  Oreillons.” 

Cacambo,  who  never  lost  his  presence  of  mind  in  distress,  said  to  the  dis- 
consolate Candide,  “Do  not  despair;  I understand  a little  of  the  jargon  of 
these  people;  I will  speak  to  them.” 

“Ay,  pray  do,”  said  Candide,  “and  be  sure  you  make  them  sensible  of  the 
horrid  barbarity  of  boiling  and  roasting  human  creatures,  and  how  little  of 
Christianity  there  is  in  such  practices.” 

“Gentlemen,”  said  Cacambo,  “you  think  perhaps  you  are  going  to  feast 
upon  a Jesuit;  if  so,  it  is  mighty  well;  nothing  can  be  more  agreeable  to  justice 
than  thus  to  treat  your  enemies.  Indeed,  the  law  of  nature  teaches  us  to  kill 
our  neighbour,  and  accordingly  we  find  this  practised  all  over  the  world;  and 
if  we  do  not  indulge  ourselves  in  eating  human  flesh,  it  is  because  we  have  much 
better  fare;  but  you  have  not  such  resources  as  we  have;  it  is  certainly  much 
better  judged  to  feast  upon  your  enemies  than  to  abandon  to  the  fowls  of  the 
air  the  fruits  of  your  victory.  But  surely,  gentlemen,  you  would  not  choose  to 
eat  your  friends.  You  imagine  you  are  going  to  roast  a Jesuit,  whereas  my  master 
is  your  friend,  your  defender,  and  you  are  going  to  spit  the  very  man  who  has 
been  destroying  your  enemies:  as  to  myself,  I am  your  countryman;  this  gentle- 
man is  my  master,  and  so  far  from  being  a Jesuit,  he  has  very  lately  killed  one 
of  that  order,  whose  spoils  he  now  wears,  and  which  have  probably  occasioned 
your  mistake.  To  convince  you  of  the  truth  of  what  I say,  take  the  habit  he 
now'  has  on,  and  carry  it  to  the  first  barrier  of  the  Jesuits’  kingdom,  and  inquire 
whether  my  master  did  not  kill  one  of  their  officers.  There  will  be  little  or  no 
time  lost  by  this,  and  you  may  still  reserve  our  bodies  in  your  power  to  feast 
on,  if  you  should  find  what  we  have  told  you  to  be  false.  But,  on  the  contrary,  if 
you  find  it  to  be  true,  I am  persuaded  you  are  too  well  acquainted  with  the 
principles  of  the  laws  of  society,  humanity,  and  justice,  not  to  use  us  cour- 
teously.” 

This  speech  appeared  very  reasonable  to  the  Oreillons;  they  deputed  two 
of  their  people  with  all  expedition  to  inquire  into  the  truth  of  this  affair.  The 
two  delegates  acquitted  themselves  of  their  commission  like  men  of  sense,  and 
soon  returned  with  good  tidings.  Upon  this  the  Oreillons  released  their  two 

57 


prisoners,  showed  them  all  sorts  of  civilities,  offered  them  girls,  gave  them 
refreshments,  and  reconducted  them  to  the  confines  of  their  country,  crying 
before  them  all  the  way,  in  token  of  joy,  “He  is  no  Jesuit,  he  is  no  Jesuit.” 

Candide  could  not  help  admiring  the  cause  of  his  deliverance. 

“What  men!  what  manners!”  cried  he:  “if  I had  not  fortunately  run  my 
sword  up  to  the  hilt  in  the  body  of  Miss  Cunegund’s  brother,  I should  have  in- 
fallibly been  eaten  alive.  But,  after  all,  pure  nature  is  an  excellent  thing;  since 
these  people,  instead  of  eating  me,  showed  me  a thousand  civilities,  as  soon  as 
they  knew  I was  not  a Jesuit.” 


58 


Candide  and  His  Servant  Arrive  in  the  Country  of  El  Dorado. 

What  They  Saw  There 

When  they  got  to  the  frontiers  of  the  Oreillons,  Cacambo  said  to  Candide, 
“You  see,  this  hemisphere  is  no  better  than  the  other:  take  my  advice,  and  let 
us  return  to  Europe  by  the  shortest  way  possible.” 

“But  how  can  we  get  back?”  said  Candide;  “and  whither  shall  we  go?  To 
my  own  country?  the  Bulgarians  and  the  Abares  are  laying  that  waste  with  fire 
and  sword.  Or  shall  we  go  to  Portugal?  there  I shall  be  burnt;  and  if  we  abide 
here,  we  are  every  moment  in  danger  of  being  spitted.  But  how  can  I bring 
myself  to  quit  that  part  of  the  world  where  Miss  Cunegund  has  her  residence?” 
“Let  us  turn  towards  Cayenne,”  said  Cacambo;  “there  we  shall  meet  with 
some  Frenchmen;  for  you  know  those  gentry  ramble  all  over  the  world;  perhaps 
they  will  assist  us,  and  God  will  look  with  pity  on  our  distress.” 

It  was  not  so  easy  to  get  to  Cayenne.  They  knew  pretty  nearly  whereabouts 
it  lay;  but  the  mountains,  rivers,  precipices,  robbers,  savages,  were  dreadful 
obstacles  in  the  way.  Their  horses  died  with  fatigue,  and  their  provisions  were 
at  an  end.  They  subsisted  a whole  month  upon  wild  fruit,  till  at  length  they 

59 


came  to  a little  river  bordered  with  cocoa-nut  palms,  the  sight  of  which  at  once 
sustained  life  and  hope. 

Cacambo,  who  was  always  giving  as  good  advice  as  the  old  woman  herself, 
said  to  Candide,  “You  see  there  is  no  holding  out  any  longer;  we  have  travelled 
enough  on  foot.  I see  an  empty  canoe  near  the  river-side;  let  us  fill  it  with 
cocoa-nuts,  get  into  it,  and  go  down  with  the  stream;  a river  always  leads  to 
some  inhabited  place.  If  we  do  not  meet  with  agreeable  things,  we  shall  at 
least  meet  with  something  new.” 

“Agreed,”  replied  Candide;  “let  us  recommend  ourselves  to  Providence.” 

They  rowed  a few  leagues  down  the  river,  the  banks  of  which  were  in  some 
places  covered  with  flowers;  in  others  barren;  in  some  parts  smooth  and  level, 
and  in  others  steep  and  rugged.  The  stream  widened  as  they  went  further  on, 
till  at  length  it  passed  under  one  of  the  frightful  rocks  whose  summits  seemed 
to  reach  the  clouds.  Here  our  two  travellers  had  the  courage  to  commit  them- 
selves to  the  stream  beneath  this  vault,  which,  contracting  in  this  part,  hurried 
them  along  with  a dreadful  noise  and  rapidity.  At  the  end  of  four-and-twenty 
hours,  they  saw  daylight  again;  but  their  canoe  was  dashed  to  pieces  against  the 
rocks.  They  were  obliged  to  creep  along,  from  rock  to  rock,  for  the  space  of 
a league,  till  at  last  a spacious  plain  presented  itself  to  their  sight,  bound  by 
inaccessible  mountains.  The  country  appeared  cultivated  equally  for  pleasure, 
and  to  produce  the  necessaries  of  life.  The  useful  and  agreeable  were  here 
equally  blended.  The  roads  were  covered,  or  rather  adorned,  with  carriages 
formed  of  glittering  materials,  in  which  were  men  and  women  of  a surprising 
beauty,  drawn  with  great  rapidity  by  red  sheep  of  a very  large  size,  which  far 
surpassed  in  speed  the  finest  coursers  of  Andalusia,  Tetuan,  or  Mequinez. 

“Here  is  a country,  however,”  said  Candide,  “preferable  to  Westphalia.” 

He  and  Cacambo  landed  near  the  first  village  they  saw,  at  the  entrance  of 
which  they  perceived  some  children  covered  with  tattered  garments  of  the 
richest  brocade,  playing  at  quoits.  Our  two  inhabitants  of  the  other  hemisphere 
amused  themselves  greatly  with  what  they  saw.  The  quoits  were  large  round 
pieces,  yellow,  red,  and  green,  which  cast  a most  glorious  lustre.  Our  travellers 
picked  some  of  them  up,  and  they  proved  to  be  gold,  emeralds,  rubies,  and 
diamonds,  the  least  of  which  would  have  been  the  greatest  ornament  to  the 
superb  throne  of  the  great  Mogul. 

“Without  doubt,”  said  Cacambo,  “those  children  must  be  the  king’s  sons, 
that  are  playing  at  quoits.” 

60 


As  he  was  uttering  those  words,  the  schoolmaster  of  the  village  appeared, 
who  came  to  call  them  to  school. 

“There,”  said  Candide,  “is  the  preceptor  of  the  royal  family.” 

The  little  ragamuffins  immediately  quitted  their  game,  leaving  the  quoits 
on  the  ground  with  all  their  other  playthings.  Candide  gathered  them  up,  ran 
to  the  schoolmaster,  and,  with  a most  respectful  bow,  presented  them  to  him, 
giving  him  to  understand  by  signs  that  their  Royal  Highnesses  had  forgotten 
their  gold  and  precious  stones.  The  schoolmaster,  with  a smile,  flung  them 
upon  the  ground,  then  having  examined  Candide  from  head  to  foot  with  an  air 
of  great  surprise,  went  on  his  way. 

Our  travellers  took  care,  however,  to  gather  up  the  gold,  the  rubies,  and 
the  emeralds. 

“Where  are  we?”  cried  Candide.  “The  king’s  children  in  this  country  must 
have  an  excellent  education,  since  they  are  taught  to  show  such  a contempt 
for  gold  and  precious  stones.” 

Cacambo  was  as  much  surprised  as  his  master. 

They  at  length  drew  near  the  first  house  in  the  village,  which  was  built  after 
the  manner  of  a European  palace.  There  was  a crowd  of  people  round  the 
door,  and  a still  greater  number  in  the  house.  The  sound  of  the  most  delightful 
musical  instruments  was  heard,  and  the  most  agreeable  smell  came  from  the 
kitchen.  Cacambo  went  up  to  the  door,  and  heard  those  within  talking  in  the 
Peruvian  language,  which  was  his  mother  tongue;  for  every  one  knows  that 
Cacambo  was  born  in  a village  of  Tucuman  where  no  other  language  is  spoken. 

“I  will  be  your  interpreter  here,”  said  he  to  Candide;  “let  us  go  in;  this  is 
an  eating-house.” 

Immediately  two  waiters,  and  two  servant-girls,  dressed  in  cloth  of  gold, 
and  their  hair  braided  with  ribbons  of  tissue,  accosted  the  strangers,  and  invited 
them  to  sit  down  to  the  ordinary.  Their  dinner  consisted  of  four  dishes  of 
different  soups,  each  garnished  with  two  young  paroquets,  a large  dish  of 
bouille  that  weighed  two  hundredweight,  two  roasted  monkeys  of  a delicious 
flavour,  three  hundred  humming-birds  in  one  dish,  and  six  hundred  fly-birds 
in  another;  some  excellent  ragouts,  delicate  tarts,  and  the  whole  served  up  in 
dishes  of  rock-crystal.  Several  sorts  of  liquors,  extracted  from  the  sugar-cane, 
were  handed  about  by  the  servants  who  attended. 

Most  of  the  company  were  chapmen  and  wagoners,  all  extremely  polite: 

61 


they  asked  Cacambo  a few  questions,  with  the  utmost  discretion  and  circum- 
spection; and  replied  to  his  in  a most  obliging  and  satisfactory  manner. 

As  soon  as  dinner  was  over,  both  Candide  and  Cacambo  thought  they 
would  pay  very  handsomely  for  their  entertainment  by  laying  down  two  of 
those  large  gold  pieces  which  they  had  picked  off  the  ground;  but  the  landlord 
and  landlady  burst  into  a fit  of  laughing  and  held  their  sides  for  some  time 
before  they  were  able  to  speak. 

“Gentlemen,”  said  the  landlord,  “I  plainly  perceive  you  are  strangers,  and 
such  we  are  not  accustomed  to  see;  pardon  us,  therefore,  for  laughing  when 
you  offered  us  the  common  pebbles  of  our  highways  for  payment  of  your 
reckoning.  To  be  sure,  you  have  none  of  the  coin  of  this  kingdom;  but  there 
is  no  necessity  to  have  any  money  at  all  to  dine  in  this  house.  All  the  inns, 
which  are  established  for  the  convenience  of  those  who  carry  on  the  trade  of 
this  nation,  are  maintained  by  the  government.  You  have  found  but  very 
indifferent  entertainment  here,  because  this  is  only  a poor  village;  but  in  almost 
every  other  of  these  public  houses  you  will  meet  with  a reception  worthy  of 
persons  of  your  merit.” 

Cacambo  explained  the  whole  of  this  speech  of  the  landlord  to  Candide, 
who  listened  to  it  with  the  same  astonishment  with  which  his  friend  commu- 
nicated it. 

“What  sort  of  a country  is  this,”  said  the  one  to  the  other,  “that  is  unknown 
to  all  the  world,  and  in  which  Nature  had  everywhere  so  different  an  appearance 
from  what  she  has  in  ours?  Possibly  this  is  that  part  of  the  globe  where  every- 
thing is  right,  for  there  must  certainly  be  some  such  place;  and,  for  all  that 
Master  Pangloss  could  say,  I often  perceived  that  things  went  very  ill  in 
Westphalia.” 


62 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

What  They  Saw  in  the  Country  of  El  Dorado 


Cacambo  vented  all  his  curiosity  upon  the  landlord  by  a thousand  different 
questions. 

The  honest  man  answered  him  thus:  “I  am  very  ignorant,  Sir,  but  I am 
contented  with  my  ignorance;  however,  we  have  in  this  neighbourhood  an  old 
man  retired  from  court,  who  is  the  most  learned  and  communicative  person 
in  the  whole  kingdom.” 

He  then  directed  Cacambo  to  the  old  man;  Candide  acted  now  only  a 
second  character,  and  attended  his  servant.  They  entered  a quite  plain  house, 
for  the  door  was  nothing  but  silver,  and  the  ceiling  was  only  of  beaten  gold,  but 
wrought  in  so  elegant  a taste  as  to  vie  with  the  richest.  The  antechamber, 
indeed,  was  only  incrusted  with  rubies  and  emeralds;  but  the  order  in  which 
everything  was  disposed  made  amends  for  this  great  simplicity. 

The  old  man  received  the  strangers  on  a sofa,  which  was  stuffed  with 
humming-birds’  feathers;  and  ordered  his  servants  to  present  them  with  liquors 
in  golden  goblets,  after  which  he  satisfied  their  curiosity  in  the  following  terms: 

“I  am  now  one  hundred  and  seventy-two  years  old;  and  I learnt  of  my  late 
father  who  was  equerry  to  the  king  the  amazing  revolutions  of  Peru,  to  which 
he  had  been  an  eye-witness.  This  kingdom  is  the  ancient  patrimony  of  the 

63 


Incas,  who  very  imprudently  quitted  it  to  conquer  another  part  of  the  world, 
and  were  at  length  conquered  and  destroyed  themselves  by  the  Spaniards. 

“Those  princes  of  their  family  who  remained  in  their  native  country  acted 
more  wisely.  They  ordained,  with  the  consent  of  their  whole  nation,  that  none 
of  the  inhabitants  of  our  little  kingdom  should  ever  quit  it;  and  to  this  wise 
ordinance  we  owe  the  preservation  of  our  innocence  and  happiness.  The  Span- 
iards had  some  confused  notion  of  this  country,  to  which  they  gave  the  name 
of  El  Dorado;  and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh,  an  Englishman,  actually  came  very 
near  it,  about  a hundred  years  ago:  but  the  inaccessible  rocks  and  precipices 
with  which  our  country  is  surrounded  on  all  sides  have  hitherto  secured  us  from 
the  rapacious  fury  of  the  people  of  Europe,  who  have  an  unaccountable  fond- 
ness for  the  pebbles  and  dirt  of  our  land,  for  the  sake  of  which  they  would 
murder  us  all  to  the  very  last  man.” 

The  conversation  lasted  some  time  and  turned  chiefly  on  the  form  of  govern- 
ment, the  customs,  the  women,  the  public  diversions,  and  the  arts.  At  length. 
Candide,  who  had  always  had  a taste  for  metaphysics,  asked  whether  the  people 
of  that  country  had  any  religion. 

The  old  man  reddened  a little  at  this  question. 

“Can  you  doubt  it?”  said  he.  “Do  you  take  us  for  wretches  lost  to  all  sense 
of  gratitude?” 

Cacambo  asked  in  a respectful  manner  what  was  the  established  religion 
of  El  Dorado.  The  old  man  blushed  again. 

“Can  there  be  two  religions  then?”  he  said.  “Ours,  I apprehend,  is  the 
religion  of  the  whole  world;  we  worship  God  from  morning  till  night.” 

“Do  you  worship  but  one  God?”  said  Cacambo,  who  still  acted  as  the 
interpreter  of  Candide’s  doubts. 

“Certainly,”  said  the  old  man;  “there  are  not  two,  nor  three,  nor  four  Gods. 
I must  confess  the  people  of  your  world  ask  very  extraordinary  questions.” 

However,  Candide  could  not  refrain  from  making  many  more  inquiries  of 
the  old  man;  he  wanted  to  know  in  what  manner  they  prayed  to  God  in  El 
Dorado. 

“We  do  not  pray  to  him  at  all,”  said  the  reverend  sage;  “we  have  nothing 
to  ask  of  him,  he  has  given  us  all  we  want,  and  we  give  him  thanks  incessantly.” 

Candide  had  a curiosity  to  see  some  of  their  priests,  and  desired  Cacambo 
to  ask  the  old  man  where  they  were. 

At  this  he,  smiling,  said,  “My  friends,  we  are  all  of. us  priests;  the  King  and 

64 


all  the  heads  of  families  sing  solemn  hymns  of  thanksgiving  every  morning, 
accompanied  by  five  or  six  thousand  musicians.” 

What!  said  Cacambo,  “have  you  no  monks  among  you,  to  dispute,  to 
govern,  to  intrigue,  and  to  burn  people  who  are  not  of  the  same  opinion  with 
themselves?” 

‘‘Do  you  take  us  for  fools?”  said  the  old  man.  “Here  we  are  all  of  one 
opinion,  and  know  not  what  you  mean  by  your  monks.” 

During  the  whole  of  this  discourse  Candide  was  in  raptures,  and  he  said 
to  himself: 

“What  a prodigious  difference  is  there  between  this  place  and  Westphalia, 
and  this  house  and  the  Baron’s  castle!  If  our  friend  Pangloss  had  seen  El 
Dorado,  he  would  no  longer  have  said  that  the  castle  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh 
was  the  finest  of  all  possible  edifices:  there  is  nothing  like  seeing  the  world, 
that’s  certain.” 

This  long  conversation  being  ended,  the  old  man  ordered  six  sheep  to  be 
harnessed,  and  put  to  the  coach,  and  sent  twelve  of  his  servants  to  escort  the 
travellers  to  Court. 

“Excuse  me,”  said  he,  “for  not  waiting  on  you  in  person;  my  age  deprives 
me  of  that  honour.  The  King  will  receive  you  in  such  a manner  that  you  will 
have  no  reason  to  complain;  and  doubtless  you  will  make  a proper  allowance 
for  the  customs  of  the  country,  if  they  should  not  happen  altogether  to  please 
you.” 

Candide  and  Cacambo  got  into  the  coach,  the  six  sheep  flew,  and  in  less 
than  a quarter  of  an  hour  they  arrived  at  the  King’s  palace,  which  was  situated 
at  the  further  end  of  the  capital.  At  the  entrance  was  a portal  two  hundred 
and  twenty  feet  high,  and  one  hundred  wide;  but  it  is  impossible  for  words  to 
express  the  materials  of  which  it  was  built.  The  reader,  however,  will  readily 
conceive  they  must  have  a prodigious  superiority  over  the  pebbles  and  sand 
which  we  call  gold  and  precious  stones. 

Twenty  beautiful  young  virgins-in-waiting  received  Candide  and  Cacambo 
at  their  alighting  from  the  coach,  conducted  them  to  the  bath,  and  clad  them 
in  robes  woven  of  the  down  of  humming-birds;  after  this  they  were  introduced 
by  the  great  officers  of  the  crown  of  both  sexes  to  the  King’s  apartment,  between 
two  files  of  musicians,  each  file  consisting  of  a thousand,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country.  When  they  drew  near  to  the  presence  chamber,  Cacambo 
asked  one  of  the  officers  in  what  manner  they  were  to  pay  their  obeisance  to 

65 


his  Majesty:  whether  it  was  the  custom  to  fall  upon  their  knees,  or  to  prostrate 
themselves  upon  the  ground?  whether  they  were  to  put  their  hands  upon  their 
heads,  or  behind  their  backs?  whether  they  were  to  lick  the  dust  off  the  floor? 
in  short,  what  was  the  ceremony  usual  on  such  occasions? 

“The  custom,”  said  the  great  officer,  “is  to  embrace  the  King,  and  kiss 
him  on  each  cheek.” 

Candide  and  Cacambo  accordingly  threw  their  arms  round  his  Majesty’s 
neck;  and  he  received  them  in  the  most  gracious  manner  imaginable,  and  very 
politely  asked  them  to  sup  with  him. 

While  supper  was  preparing,  orders  were  given  to  show  them  the  city,  where 
they  saw  public  structures  that  reared  their  lofty  heads  to  the  clouds;  the  market- 
places decorated  with  a thousand  columns;  fountains  of  spring  water,  besides 
others  of  rose  water,  and  of  liquors  drawn  from  the  sugar-cane,  incessantly 
flowing  in  the  great  squares;  these  were  paved  with  a kind  of  precious  stone 
that  emitted  an  odour  like  that  of  cloves  and  cinnamon.  Candide  asked  to  see 
the  high  court  of  justice,  the  parliament;  but  was  answered  that  they  have  none 
in  that  country,  being  utter  strangers  to  lawsuits.  He  then  inquired,  if  they  had 
any  prisons;  they  replied,  “None.”  But  what  gave  him  at  once  the  greatest 
surprise  and  pleasure  was  the  Palace  of  Sciences,  where  he  saw  a gallery  two 
thousand  feet  long,  filled  with  the  various  apparatus  of  mathematics  and 
natural  philosophy. 

After  having  spent  the  whole  afternoon  in  seeing  only  about  a thousandth 
part  of  the  city,  they  were  brought  back  to  the  King’s  palace.  Candide  sat 
down  at  the  table  with  his  Majesty,  his  servant  Cacambo,  and  several  ladies 
of  the  Court.  Never  was  entertainment  more  elegant,  nor  could  any  one 
possibly  show  more  wit  than  his  Majesty  displayed  while  they  were  at  supper. 
Cacambo  explained  all  the  King’s  bons  mots  to  Candide,  and  although  they 
were  translated  they  still  appeared  to  be  bons  mots.  Of  all  the  things  that  sur- 
prised Candide,  this  was  not  the  least.  They  spent  a whole  month  in  this  hos- 
pitable place,  during  which  time  Candide  was  continually  saying  to  Cacambo: 

“I  own,  my  friend,  once  more,  that  the  castle  where  I was  born  is  a mere 
nothing  in  comparison  with  the  place  where  we  now  are;  but  still  Miss  Cune- 
gund  is  not  here,  and  you  yourself  have  doubtless  some  mistress  in  Europe. 
If  we  remain  here,  we  shall  only  be  as  others  are:  whereas,  if  we  return  to  our 
own  world  with  only  a dozen  of  El  Dorado  sheep,  loaded  with  the  pebbles  of 
this  country,  we  shall  be  richer  than  all  the  kings  in  Europe;  we  shall  no  longer 
66 


need  to  stand  in  awe  of  the  Inquisitors;  and  we  may  easily  recover  Miss 
Cunegund.” 

This  speech  pleased  Cacambo.  A fondness  for  roving,  for  making  a figure 
in  their  own  country,  and  for  boasting  of  what  they  had  seen  in  their  travels, 
was  so  strong  in  our  two  wanderers  that  they  resolved  to  be  no  longer  happy; 
and  demanded  permission  of  his  Majesty  to  quit  the  country. 

“You  are  about  to  do  a rash  and  silly  action,”  said  the  King;  “I  am  sensible 
my  kingdom  is  an  inconsiderable  spot;  but  when  people  are  tolerably  at  their 
ease  in  any  place,  1 should  think  it  would  be  their  interest  to  remain  there. 
Most  assuredly,  I have  no  right  to  detain  you  or  any  strangers  against  your  wills; 
this  is  an  act  of  tyranny  to  which  our  manners  and  our  laws  are  equally  repug- 
nant: all  men  are  free;  you  have  an  undoubted  liberty  to  depart  whenever  you 
please,  but  you  will  have  many  difficulties  in  passing  the  frontiers.  It  is  impos- 
sible to  ascend  that  rapid  river  which  runs  under  high  and  vaulted  rocks,  and 
by  which  you  were  conveyed  hither  by  a miracle.  The  mountains  by  which 
my  kingdom  is  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  are  ten  thousand  feet  high,  and  perfectly 
perpendicular;  they  are  above  ten  leagues  over  each,  and  the  descent  from 
them  is  one  continued  precipice.  However,  since  you  are  determined  to  leave 
us,  I will  immediately  give  orders  to  the  superintendent  of  machines  to  cause 
one  to  be  made  that  will  convey  you  safely.  When  they  have  conducted  you 
to  the  back  of  the  mountains,  nobody  can  attend  you  further;  for  my  subjects 
have  made  a vow  never  to  quit  the  kingdom,  and  they  are  too  prudent  to  break 
it.  Ask  me  whatever  else  you  please.” 

“All  we  shall  ask  of  your  Majesty,”  said  Cacambo,  “is  a few  sheep  laden 
with  provisions,  pebbles,  and  the  clay  of  your  country." 

The  King  smiled  at  the  request,  and  said,  “I  cannot  imagine  what  pleasure 
you  Europeans  find  in  our  yellow  clay;  but  take  away  as  much  of  it  as  you  will, 
and  much  good  may  it  do  you.” 

He  immediately  gave  orders  to  his  engineers  to  make  a machine  to  hoist 
these  two  extraordinary  men  out  of  the  kingdom.  Three  thousand  good  mathe- 
maticians went  to  work  and  finished  it  in  about  fifteen  days;  and  it  did  not  cost 
more  than  twenty  millions  sterling  of  that  country’s  money.  Candide  and 
Cacambo  were  placed  on  this  machine,  and  they  took  with  them  two  large  red 
sheep,  bridled  and  saddled,  to  ride  upon  when  they  got  on  the  other  side  of 
the  mountains;  twenty  others  to  serve  as  pack-horses  for  carrying  provisions; 
thirty  laden  with  presents  of  whatever  was  most  curious  in  the  country;  and  fifty 

67 


with  gold,  diamonds,  and  other  precious  stones.  The  King  embraced  the  two 
wanderers  with  the  greatest  cordiality. 

It  was  a curious  sight  to  behold  the  manner  of  their  setting  off,  and  the 
ingenious  method  by  which  they  and  their  sheep  were  hoisted  to  the  top  of 
the  mountains.  The  mathematicians  and  engineers  took  leave  of  them  as  soon 
as  they  had  conveyed  them  to  a place  of  safety,  and  Candide  was  wholly  occu- 
pied with  the  thoughts  of  presenting  his  sheep  to  Miss  Cunegund. 

‘‘Now,”  said  he,  “thanks  to  heaven,  we  have  more  than  sufficient  to  pay 
the  Governor  of  Buenos  Ayres  for  Miss  Cunegund,  if  she  is  redeemable.  Let 
us  make  the  best  of  our  way  to  Cayenne,  where  we  will  take  ship,  and  then  we 
may  at  leisure  think  of  what  kingdom  we  shall  purchase.” 


68 


} 


CHAPTER  XIX 

W hat  Happened  to  Them  at  Surinam , and  How  Candide  Became 

Acquainted  with  Martin 

Our  travellers’  first  day’s  journey  was  very  pleasant;  they  were  elated  with  the 
prospect  of  possessing  more  riches  than  were  to  be  found  in  Europe,  Asia,  and 
Africa  together.  Candide,  in  amorous  transports,  cut  the  name  of  Miss  Cune- 
gund  on  the  trees.  The  second  day,  two  of  their  sheep  sank  into  a morass,  and 
were  swallowed  up  with  their  loads;  two  more  died  of  fatigue  some  few  days 
afterwards;  seven  or  eight  perished  with  hunger  in  a desert,  and  others,  at 
different  times,  tumbled  down  precipices;  so  that,  after  travelling  about  a hun- 
dred days,  they  had  only  two  sheep  left. 

Said  Candide  to  Cacambo,  “You  see,  my  dear  friend,  how  perishable  the 

69 


riches  of  this  world  are;  there  is  nothing  solid  but  virtue  and  the  joy  of  seeing 
Miss  Cunegund  again.” 

“Very  true,”  said  Cacambo;  “but  we  have  still  two  sheep  remaining,  with 
more  treasure  than  ever  the  King  of  Spain  will  be  possessed  of;  and  I espy  a 
town  at  a distance,  which  I take  to  be  Surinam,  a town  belonging  to  the  Dutch. 
We  are  now  at  the  end  of  our  troubles,  and  at  the  beginning  of  happiness.” 

As  they  drew  near  the  town,  they  saw  a negro  stretched  on  the  ground 
with  only  one  half  of  his  habit,  which  was  a pair  of  blue  cotton  drawers;  for 
the  poor  man  had  lost  his  left  leg,  and  his  right  hand. 

“Good  God,”  said  Candide  in  Dutch,  “what  dost  thou  here,  friend,  in  this 
deplorable  condition?” 

“I  am  waiting  for  my  master  Mynheer  Vanderdendur,  the  famous  trader,” 
answered  the  negro. 

“Was  it  Mynheer  Vanderdendur  that  used  you  in  this  cruel  manner?” 

“Yes,  Sir,”  said  the  negro;  “it  is  the  custom  here.  They  give  a pair  of  cotton 
drawers  twice  a year,  and  that  is  all  our  covering.  When  we  labour  in  the  sugar- 
works,  and  the  mill  happens  to  snatch  hold  of  a finger,  they  instantly  chop  off 
our  hand;  and  when  we  attempt  to  run  away,  they  cut  off  a leg.  Both  these 
cases  have  happened  to  me,  and  it  is  at  this  expense  that  you  eat  sugar  in  Europe; 
and  yet  when  my  mother  sold  me  for  ten  pattacoons  on  the  coast  of  Guinea, 
she  said  to  me,  ‘My  dear  child,  bless  our  fetishes;  adore  them  for  ever;  they 
will  make  thee  live  happy;  thou  hast  the  honour  to  be  a slave  to  our  lords  the 
whites,  by  which  thou  wilt  make  the  fortune  of  us  thy  parents.’  Alas!  I know 
not  whether  I have  made  their  fortunes;  but  they  have  not  made  mine:  dogs, 
monkeys,  and  parrots,  are  a thousand  times  less  wretched  than  me.  The  Dutch 
fetishes  who  converted  me  tell  me  every  Sunday  that,  blacks  and  whites,  we 
are  all  children  of  Adam.  As  for  me,  I do  not  understand  any  thing  of  geneal- 
ogies; but  if  what  these  preachers  say  is  true,  we  are  all  second  cousins;  and 
you  must  allow,  that  it  is  impossible  to  be  worse  treated  by  our  relations  than 
we  are.” 

“O  Pangloss!”  cried  out  Candide,  “such  horrid  doings  never  entered  my 
imagination.  Here  is  an  end  of  the  matter;  I find  myself,  after  all,  obliged  to 
renounce  thy  Optimism.” 

“Optimism!”  said  Cacambo,  “what  is  that?” 

“Alas!”  replied  Candide,  “it  is  the  obstinacy  of  maintaining  that  everything 
is  best  when  it  is  worst”:  and  so  saying,  he  turned  his- eyes  towards  the  poor 

7° 


negro,  and  shed  a flood  of  tears;  and  in  this  weeping  mood  he  entered  the  town 
of  Surinam. 

Immediately  upon  their  arrival,  our  travellers  inquired  if  there  was  any 
vessel  in  the  harbour  which  they  might  send  to  Buenos  Ayres.  The  person  they 
addressed  themselves  to  happened  to  be  the  master  of  a Spanish  bark,  who 
offered  to  agree  with  them  on  moderate  terms,  and  appointed  them  a meeting 
at  a public-house.  1 hither  Candide  and  his  faithful  Cacambo  went  to  wait 
for  him,  taking  with  them  their  two  sheep. 

Candide,  who  was  all  frankness  and  sincerity,  made  an  ingenuous  recital 
of  his  adventures  to  the  Spaniard,  declaring  to  him  at  the  same  time  his  reso- 
lution of  carrying  off  Miss  Cunegund. 

“In  that  case,”  said  the  shipmaster,  “I’ll  take  good  care  not  to  take  you  to 
Buenos  Ayres.  It  would  prove  a hanging  matter  to  us  all.  The  fair  Cunegund 
is  the  Governor’s  favourite  mistress.” 

These  words  were  like  a clap  of  thunder  to  Candide;  he  wept  bitterly  for 
a long  time,  and,  taking  Cacambo  aside,  he  said  to  him: 

“I’ll  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  what  you  must  do.  We  have  each  of  us  in  our 
pockets  to  the  value  of  five  or  six  millions  in  diamonds;  you  are  cleverer  at  these 
matters  than  I;  you  must  go  to  Buenos  Ayres  and  bring  off  Miss  Cunegund.  If 
the  Governor  makes  any  difficulty,  give  him  a million;  if  he  holds  out,  give  him 
two;  as  you  have  not  killed  an  Inquisitor,  they  will  have  no  suspicion  of  you:  I’ll 
fit  out  another  ship  and  go  to  Venice,  w’here  I will  wait  for  you:  Venice  is  a free 
country,  where  we  shall  have  nothing  to  fear  from  Bulgarians,  Abares,  Jews,  or 
Inquisitors.” 

Cacambo  greatly  applauded  this  wise  resolution.  He  was  inconsolable  at  the 
thought  of  parting  with  so  good  a master,  who  treated  him  more  like  an  inti- 
mate friend  than  a servant;  but  the  pleasure  of  being  able  to  do  him  a service 
soon  got  the  better  of  his  sorrow.  They  embraced  each  other  with  a flood  of 
tears.  Candide  charged  him  not  to  forget  the  old  woman.  Cacambo  set  out 
the  same  day.  This  Cacambo  was  a very  honest  fellow. 

Candide  continued  some  days  longer  at  Surinam,  waiting  for  any  captain 
to  carry'  him  and  his  two  remaining  sheep  to  Italy.  He  hired  domestics  and 
purchased  many  things  necessary  for  a long  voyage;  at  length,  Mynheer  Vander- 
dendur,  skipper  of  a large  Dutch  vessel,  came  and  offered  his  service. 

“What  will  you  take,”  said  Candide,  “to  carry  me,  my  servants,  my  baggage, 
and  these  two  sheep  you  see  here,  direct  to  Venice?” 


71 


The  skipper  asked  ten  thousand  piastres;  and  Candide  agreed  to  his  demand 
without  hesitation. 

“Oh,  ho!"  said  the  cunning  Vanderdendur  to  himself,  “this  stranger  must 
be  very  rich;  he  agrees  to  give  me  ten  thousand  piastres  without  hesitation.” 

Returning  a little  while  after,  he  told  Candide  that  upon  second  con- 
sideration he  could  not  undertake  the  voyage  for  less  than  twenty  thousand. 

“Very  well,  you  shall  have  them,”  said  Candide. 

“Zounds!”  said  the  skipper  to  himself,  “this  man  agrees  to  pay  twenty 
thousand  piastres  with  as  much  ease  as  ten.” 

Accordingly  he  went  back  again,  and  told  him  roundly  that  he  would  not 
carry  him  to  Venice  for  less  than  thirty  thousand  piastres. 

“Then  you  shall  have  thirty  thousand,”  said  Candide. 

“Odso!”  said  the  Dutchman  once  more  to  himself,  “thirty  thousand  piastres 
seem  a trifle  to  this  man.  Those  sheep  must  certainly  be  laden  with  an  immense 
treasure.  I’ll  stop  here  and  ask  no  more;  but  make  him  pay  down  the  thirty 
thousand  piastres,  and  then  we  shall  see.” 

Candide  sold  two  small  diamonds,  the  least  of  which  was  worth  more  than 
all  the  skipper  asked.  He  paid  him  before-hand,  and  the  two  sheep  were  put  on 
board,  and  Candide  followed  in  a small  boat  to  join  the  vessel  in  the  road.  The 
skipper  took  his  opportunity,  hoisted  his  sails,  and  put  out  to  sea  with  a favour- 
able wind.  Candide,  confounded  and  amazed,  soon  lost  sight  of  the  ship. 

“Alas!”  said  he,  “this  is  a trick  like  those  in  our  old  world!” 

He  returned  back  to  the  shore  overwhelmed  with  grief;  and,  indeed,  he  had 
lost  what  would  have  been  the  fortune  of  twenty  monarchs. 

Immediately  upon  his  landing,  he  applied  to  the  Dutch  magistrate:  being 
transported  with  passion,  he  thundered  at  the  door;  which  being  opened,  he 
went  in,  told  his  case,  and  talked  a little  louder  than  was  necessary.  The  magis- 
trate began  by  fining  him  ten  thousand  piastres  for  his  petulance,  and  then 
listened  very  patiently  to  what  he  had  to  say,  promised  to  examine  into  the 
affair  at  the  skipper’s  return,  and  ordered  him  to  pay  ten  thousand  piastres  more 
for  the  fees  of  the  court. 

This  treatment  put  Candide  out  of  all  patience:  it  is  true,  he  had  suffered 
misfortunes  a thousand  times  more  grievous;  but  the  cool  insolence  of  the 
judge  and  of  the  skipper  who  robbed  him  raised  his  choler  and  threw  him  into 
a deep  melancholy.  The  villainy  of  mankind  presented  itself  to  his  mind  in 
all  its  deformity,  and  his  soul  was  a prey  to  the  most  gloomy  ideas.  After  some 

72 


time,  hearing  that  the  captain  of  a French  ship  was  ready  to  set  sail  for  Bor- 
deaux, as  he  had  no  more  sheep  loaded  with  diamonds  to  put  on  board,  he  hired 
the  cabin  at  the  usual  price;  and  made  it  known  in  the  town  that  he  would  pay 
the  passage  and  board  of  any  honest  man  who  would  give  him  his  company 
during  the  voyage;  besides  making  him  a present  of  ten  thousand  piastres,  on 
condition  that  such  person  was  the  most  dissatisfied  with  his  condition  and 
the  most  unfortunate  in  the  whole  province. 

Upon  this  there  appeared  such  a crowd  of  candidates  that  a large  fleet 
could  not  have  contained  them.  Candide,  willing  to  choose  from  among  those 
who  appeared  most  likely  to  answer  his  intention,  selected  twenty,  who  seemed 
to  him  the  most  sociable,  and  who  all  pretended  to  merit  the  preference.  He 
invited  them  to  his  inn,  and  promised  to  treat  them  with  a supper,  on  condition 
that  every  man  should  bind  himself  by  an  oath  to  relate  his  own  history.  He 
declared  at  the  same  time  that  he  would  make  choice  of  that  person  who  should 
appear  to  him  the  most  deserving  of  compassion,  and  the  most  justly  dissatisfied 
with  his  condition  of  life;  and  that  he  would  make  a present  to  the  rest. 

This  extraordinary  assembly  continued  sitting  till  four  in  the  morning.  Can- 
dide, while  he  was  listening  to  their  adventures,  called  to  mind  what  the  old 
woman  had  said  to  him  on  their  voyage  to  Buenos  Ayres,  and  the  wager  she 
had  laid  that  there  was  not  a person  on  board  the  ship  but  had  met  with  some 
great  misfortune.  Ever)'  story  he  heard  put  him  in  mind  of  Pangloss. 

“My  old  master,”  said  he,  “would  be  confoundedly  put  to  it  to  demonstrate 
his  favourite  system.  Would  he  were  here!  Certainly  if  everything  is  for  the 
best,  it  is  in  El  Dorado,  and  not  in  the  other  parts  of  the  world.” 

At  length  he  determined  in  favour  of  a poor  scholar  who  had  laboured  ten 
years  for  the  booksellers  at  Amsterdam,  being  of  opinion  that  no  employment 
could  be  more  detestable. 

This  scholar,  who  was  in  fact  a very  honest  man,  had  been  robbed  by  his 
wife,  beaten  by  his  son,  and  forsaken  by  his  daughter,  who  had  run  away  with 
a Portuguese.  He  had  been  likewise  deprived  of  a small  employment  on  which 
he  subsisted,  and  he  was  persecuted  by  the  clergy  of  Surinam,  who  took  him 
for  a Socinian.  It  must  be  acknowledged  that  the  other  competitors  were,  at 
least,  as  wretched  as  he;  but  Candide  was  in  hopes  that  the  company  of  a man 
of  letters  would  relieve  the  tediousness  of  the  voyage.  All  the  other  candidates 
complained  that  Candide  had  done  them  great  injustice;  but  he  stopped  their 
mouths  by  a present  of  a hundred  piastres  to  each. 


73 


CHAPTER  XX 

What  Befell  Candide  and  Martin  on  Their  Voyage 

The  old  scholar,  whose  name  was  Martin,  took  shipping  with  Candide  for 
Bordeaux.  They  both  had  seen  and  suffered  a great  deal;  and  if  the  ship  had 
been  destined  to  sail  from  Surinam  to  Japan  round  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope, 
they  could  have  found  sufficient  entertainment  for  each  other  during  the  whole 
voyage  in  discoursing  upon  moral  and  natural  evil. 

Candide,  however,  had  one  advantage  over  Martin:  he  lived  in  the  pleasing 
hopes  of  seeing  Miss  Cunegund  once  more;  whereas  the  poor  philosopher  had 
nothing  to  hope  for.  Besides,  Candide  had  money  and  jewels,  and,  notwith- 
standing he  had  lost  a hundred  red  sheep,  laden  with  the  greatest  treasure  on 
the  earth,  and  though  he  still  smarted  from  the  reflection  of  the  Dutch  skipper’s 
knavery,  yet  when  he  considered  what  he  had  still  left,  and  repeated  the  name 
of  Cunegund,  especially  after  meal-times,  he  inclined  to  Pangloss’s  doctrine. 

“And  pray,”  said  he  to  Martin,  “what  is  your  opinion  of  the  whole  of  this 
system?  What  notion  have  you  of  moral  and  natural  evil?” 

“Sir,”  replied  Martin,  “our  priests  accused  me  of  being  a Socinian;  but  the 
real  truth  is,  I am  a Manichæan.” 

“Nay,  now  you  are  jesting,”  said  Candide;  “there  are  no  Manichæans 
existing  at  present  in  the  world.” 

74 


“And  yet  I am  one,”  said  Martin;  “but  I cannot  help  it;  I cannot  for  the 
soul  of  me  think  otherwise.” 

“Surely  the  devil  must  be  in  you,”  said  Candide. 

“He  concerns  himself  so  much,”  replied  Martin,  “in  the  affairs  of  this  world 
that  it  is  very  probable  he  may  be  in  me  as  well  as  everywhere  else;  but  I must 
confess,  when  I cast  my  eye  on  this  globe,  or  rather  globule,  I cannot  help 
thinking  that  God  has  abandoned  it  to  some  malignant  being.  I always  except 
El  Dorado.  I scarce  ever  knew  a city  that  did  not  wish  the  destruction  of  its 
neighbouring  city;  nor  a family  that  did  not  desire  to  exterminate  some  other 
family.  The  poor,  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  bear  an  inveterate  hatred  to  the 
rich,  even  while  they  creep  and  cringe  to  them;  and  the  rich  treat  the  poor  like 
sheep,  whose  wool  and  flesh  they  barter  for  money:  a million  of  regimented 
assassins  traverse  Europe  from  one  end  to  the  other  to  get  their  bread  by  regular 
depredation  and  murder,  because  it  is  the  most  gentleman-like  profession.  Even 
in  those  cities  which  seem  to  enjoy  the  blessings  of  peace,  and  where  the  arts 
flourish,  the  inhabitants  are  devoured  with  envy,  care,  and  anxiety,  which  are 
greater  plagues  than  any  experienced  in  a town  besieged.  Private  chagrins  are 
still  more  dreadful  than  public  calamities.  In  a word,  I have  seen  and  suffered 
so  much,  that  I am  a Manichæan.” 

“And  yet  there  is  some  good  in  the  world,”  replied  Candide. 

“May  be,”  said  Martin,  “but  it  has  escaped  my  knowledge.” 

While  they  were  deeply  engaged  in  this  dispute  they  heard  the  report  of 
cannon,  which  redoubled  every  moment.  Each  took  out  his  glass,  and  they 
espied  two  ships  warmly  engaged  at  the  distance  of  about  three  miles.  The  wind 
brought  them  both  so  near  the  French  ship  that  those  on  board  her  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  the  fight  with  great  ease.  At  last  one  of  the  two  vessels 
gave  the  other  a shot  between  wind  and  water,  which  sank  her  outright.  Then 
could  Candide  and  Martin  plainly  perceive  a hundred  men  on  the  deck  of  the 
vessel  w hich  was  sinking,  who,  with  hands  uplifted  to  heaven,  sent  forth  piercing 
cries,  and  were  in  a moment  swallowed  up  by  the  wraves. 

“Well,”  said  Martin,  “you  now  see  in  what  manner  mankind  treat  each 
other.” 

“It  is  certain,”  said  Candide,  “that  there  is  something  diabolical  in  this 
affair.” 

As  he  was  speaking  thus,  he  saw  something  of  a shining  red  hue,  which  swam 
close  to  the  vessel.  The  boat  was  hoisted  out  to  see  what  it  might  be,  when  it 

75 


proved  to  be  one  of  his  sheep.  Candide  felt  more  joy  at  the  recovery  of  this  one 
animal  than  he  did  grief  when  he  lost  the  other  hundred,  though  laden  with  the 
large  diamonds  of  El  Dorado. 

The  French  captain  quickly  perceived  that  the  victorious  ship  belonged 
to  the  crown  of  Spain;  that  the  other  which  sank  was  a Dutch  pirate,  and  the 
very  same  captain  who  had  robbed  Candide.  The  immense  riches  which  this 
villain  had  amassed  were  buried  with  him  in  the  deep,  and  only  this  one  sheep 
saved  out  of  the  whole. 

“You  see,”  said  Candide  to  Martin,  “that  vice  is  sometimes  punished:  this 
villain,  the  Dutch  skipper,  has  met  with  the  fate  he  deserved.” 

“Very  true,”  said  Martin;  “but  why  should  the  passengers  be  doomed  also 
to  destruction?  God  has  punished  the  knave,  and  the  devil  has  drowned  the 
rest.” 

The  French  and  Spanish  ships  continued  their  cruise,  and  Candide  and 
Martin  their  conversation.  They  disputed  fourteen  days  successively,  at  the 
end  of  which  they  were  just  as  far  advanced  as  the  first  moment  they  began. 
However,  they  had  the  satisfaction  of  disputing,  of  communicating  their  ideas, 
and  of  mutually  comforting  each  other.  Candide  embraced  his  sheep. 

“Since  I have  found  thee  again,”  said  he,  “I  may  possibly  find  my  Cunegund 
once  more.” 


76 


CHAPTER  XXI 


Candide  and  Martin,  While  l hus  Reasoning  with  Each  Other, 
Draw  Near  to  the  Coast  of  France 

At  length  they  sighted  the  coast  of  France. 

“Pray,  Mr.  Martin,”  said  Candide,  “have  you  ever  been  in  France?” 

“Yes,  Sir,”  said  Martin,  “I  have  been  in  several  provinces  of  that  kingdom. 
In  some,  one  half  of  the  people  are  madmen;  in  some,  they  are  too  artful;  in 
others,  again,  they  are  in  general  either  very  good-natured  or  very  brutal;  while 
in  others,  they  affect  to  be  witty,  and  in  all,  their  ruling  passion  is  love,  the 
next  is  slander,  and  the  last  is  to  talk  nonsense.” 

“But  pray,  Mr.  Martin,  were  you  ever  in  Paris?” 

“Yes,  Sir,  I have  been  in  that  city,  and  it  is  a place  that  contains  the  several 
species  just  described;  it  is  a chaos,  a confused  multitude,  where  everyone  seeks 
for  pleasure  without  being  able  to  find  it;  at  least,  as  far  as  I have  observed 
during  my  short  stay  in  that  city.  At  my  arrival,  I was  robbed  of  all  I had  in  the 
world  by  pickpockets  and  sharpers,  at  the  fair  of  St.  Germain.  I was  taken  up 
myself  for  a robber,  and  confined  in  prison  a whole  week;  after  that  I hired 
myself  as  corrector  to  a press  in  order  to  get  a little  money  towards  defraying 
my  expenses  back  to  Holland  on  foot.  I knew  the  whole  tribe  of  scribblers, 
malcontents,  and  religious  convulsionaries.  It  is  said  the  people  of  that  city  are 
very  polite;  I believe  they  may  be  so.” 

“For  my  part,  I have  no  curiosity  to  see  France,”  said  Candide;  “you  may 
easily  conceive,  my  friend,  that,  after  spending  a month  at  El  Dorado,  I can 
desire  to  behold  nothing  upon  earth  but  Miss  Cunegund;  I am  going  to  wait 
for  her  at  Venice;  I intend  to  pass  through  France  on  my  way  to  Italy;  will  you 
not  bear  me  company?” 

“With  all  my  heart,”  said  Martin:  “they  say  Venice  is  agreeable  to  none 
but  noble  Venetians;  but  that,  nevertheless,  strangers  are  well  received  there 

77 


when  they  have  plenty  of  money;  now  I have  none,  but  you  have,  therefore 
I will  attend  you  wherever  you  please.” 

“Now  we  are  upon  this  subject,”  said  Candide,  “do  you  think  that  the  earth 
was  originally  sea,  as  we  read  in  that  great  book  which  belongs  to  the  captain 
of  the  ship?” 

“I  believe  nothing  of  it,”  replied  Martin,  “any  more  than  I do  of  the  many 
other  chimeras  which  have  been  related  to  us  for  some  time  past.” 

“But  then,  to  what  end,”  said  Candide,  “was  the  world  formed?” 

“To  make  us  mad,”  said  Martin. 

“Are  you  not  surprised,”  continued  Candide,  “at  the  love  which  the  two 
girls  in  the  country  of  the  Oreillons  had  for  those  two  monkeys?— You  know  I 
have  told  you  the  story.” 

“Surprised!”  replied  Martin,  “not  in  the  least;  I see  nothing  strange  in  this 
passion.  I have  seen  so  many  extraordinary  things,  that  there  is  nothing  extraor- 
dinary to  me  now.” 

“Do  you  think,”  said  Candide,  “that  mankind  always  massacred  each  other 
as  they  do  now?  W ere  they  always  guilty  of  lies,  fraud,  treachery,  ingratitude, 
inconstancy,  envy,  ambition,  and  cruelty?  Were  they  always  thieves,  fools, 
cowards,  gluttons,  drunkards,  misers,  calumniators,  debauchees,  fanatics,  and 
hypocrites?” 

“Do  you  believe,”  said  Martin,  “that  hawks  have  always  been  accustomed 
to  eat  pigeons  when  they  came  in  their  way?” 

“Doubtless,”  said  Candide. 

“Well  then,”  replied  Martin,  “if  hawks  have  always  had  the  same  nature, 
why  should  you  pretend  that  mankind  change  theirs?” 

“Oh!”  said  Candide,  “there  is  a great  deal  of  difference,  for  free  will  . . .” 
Reasoning  thus,  they  arrived  at  Bordeaux. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

W hat  Happened  to  Candide  and  Martin  in  France 

Candide  stayed  no  longer  at  Bordeaux  than  was  necessary  to  dispose  of  a few 
of  the  pebbles  he  had  brought  from  El  Dorado,  and  to  provide  himself  with  a 
post-chaise  for  two  persons,  for  he  could  no  longer  stir  a step  without  his 
philosopher  Martin.  The  only  thing  that  gave  him  concern  was  the  being 
obliged  to  leave  his  sheep  behind  him,  which  he  entrusted  to  the  care  of  the 
Academy  of  Sciences  at  Bordeaux.  The  academicians  proposed,  as  a prize- 
subject  for  the  year,  to  prove  why  the  wool  of  this  sheep  was  red;  and  the  prize 
was  adjudged  to  a northern  sage,  who  demonstrated  by  A plus  B,  minus  C, 
divided  by  Z,  that  the  sheep  must  necessarily  be  red,  and  die  of  the  rot. 

In  the  meantime,  all  the  travellers  whom  Candide  met  with  in  the  inns, 
or  on  the  road,  told  him  to  a man  that  they  were  going  to  Paris.  This  general 
eagerness  gave  him  likewise  a great  desire  to  see  this  capital,  and  it  was  not  much 
out  of  his  way  to  Venice. 


79 


He  entered  the  city  by  the  suburbs  of  St.  Marceau,  and  thought  himself 
in  one  of  the  vilest  hamlets  in  all  Westphalia. 

Candide  had  not  been  long  at  his  inn  before  he  was  seized  with  a slight 
disorder  owing  to  the  fatigue  he  had  undergone.  As  he  wore  a diamond  of  an 
enormous  size  on  his  finger,  and  had,  among  the  rest  of  his  equipage,  a strong 
box  that  seemed  very  weighty,  he  soon  found  himself  between  two  physicians 
whom  he  had  not  sent  for,  a number  of  intimate  friends  whom  he  had  never 
seen,  and  who  would  not  quit  his  bedside,  and  two  female  devotees  who  warmed 
his  soup  for  him. 

“I  remember,”  said  Martin  to  him,  "that  the  first  time  I came  to  Paris  I 
was  likewise  taken  ill;  I was  very  poor,  and,  accordingly,  I had  neither  friends, 
nurses,  nor  physicians,  and  yet  I did  very  well.” 

However,  by  dint  of  purging  and  bleeding  Candide’s  disorder  became  very 
serious.  The  priest  of  the  parish  came  with  all  imaginable  politeness  to  desire 
a note  of  him,  payable  to  the  bearer  in  the  other  world.  Candide  refused  to 
comply  with  his  request;  but  the  two  devotees  assured  him  that  it  was  a new 
fashion.  Candide  replied  that  he  was  not  one  that  followed  the  fashion.  Martin 
was  for  throwing  the  priest  out  of  the  window.  The  clerk  swore  Candide  should 
not  have  Christian  burial.  Martin  swore  in  his  turn  that  he  would  bury  the 
clerk  alive,  if  he  continued  to  plague  them  any  longer.  The  dispute  grew  warm; 
Martin  took  him  by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  him  out  of  the  room,  which 
gave  great  scandal,  and  occasioned  a lawsuit. 

Candide  recovered;  and,  till  he  was  in  a condition  to  go  abroad,  had  a great 
deal  of  very  good  company  to  pass  the  evenings  with  him  in  his  chamber.  They 
played  deep.  Candide  was  surprised  to  find  he  could  never  turn  a trick;  and 
Martin  was  not  at  all  surprised  at  the  matter. 

Among  those  who  did  him  the  honours  of  the  place,  was  a little  spruce 
Abbé  from  Périgord,  one  of  those  insinuating,  busy,  fawning,  impudent,  accom- 
modating fellows,  that  lie  in  wait  for  strangers  at  their  arrival,  tell  them  all  the 
scandal  of  the  town,  and  offer  to  minister  to  their  pleasures  at  various  prices. 
This  man  conducted  Candide  and  Martin  to  the  playhouse:  they  were  acting 
a new  tragedy.  Candide  found  himself  placed  near  a cluster  of  wits:  this,  how- 
ever, did  not  prevent  him  from  shedding  tears  at  some  scenes  which  were 
perfectly  acted.  One  of  these  talkers  said  to  him  between  the  acts: 

“You  are  greatly  to  blame  in  shedding  tears;  that  actress  plays  horribly,  and 
the  man  that  plays  with  her  still  worse,  and  the  piece  itself  is  still  more  execrable 
80 


than  the  representation.  I he  author  does  not  understand  a word  of  Arabic, 
and  yet  he  has  laid  his  scene  in  Arabia;  and  what  is  more,  he  is  a fellow  who 
does  not  believe  in  innate  ideas.  7 o-morrow  I will  bring  you  a score  of  pam- 
phlets that  have  been  written  against  him.” 

Pray,  Sir,  said  Candide  to  the  Abbé,  “how  many  theatrical  pieces  have 
you  in  France?” 

“Five  or  six  thousand,”  replied  the  other. 

Indeed!  that  is  a great  number,’  said  Candide:  “but  how  many  good  ones 
may  there  be?” 

“About  fifteen  or  sixteen.” 

“Oh!  that  is  a great  number,”  said  Martin. 

Candide  was  greatly  taken  with  an  actress  who  performed  the  part  of  Oueen 
Elizabeth  in  a dull  kind  of  tragedy  that  is  played  sometimes. 

“That  actress,”  said  he  to  Martin,  “pleases  me  greatly;  she  has  some  sort 
of  resemblance  to  Miss  Cunegund.  I should  be  very  glad  to  pav  my  respects 
to  her.” 

The  Abbé  of  Périgord  offered  his  services  to  introduce  him  to  her  at  her 
own  house.  Candide,  who  was  brought  up  in  Germany,  desired  to  know  what 
might  be  the  ceremonial  used  on  those  occasions,  and  how  a Oueen  of  England 
was  treated  in  France. 

“There  is  a necessary  distinction  to  be  observed  in  these  matters,”  said  the 
Abbé.  “In  a country  town  we  take  them  to  a tavern;  here  in  Paris,  they  are 
treated  with  great  respect  during  their  lifetime,  provided  they  are  handsome, 
and  when  they  die,  we  throw  their  bodies  upon  a dunghill.” 

“How,”  said  Candide,  “throw  a queen’s  body  upon  a dunghill!” 

“The  gentleman  is  quite  right,”  said  Martin;  “he  tells  you  nothing  but  the 
truth.  I happened  to  be  in  Paris  when  Mile.  Monime  made  her  exit,  as  one 
may  say,  out  of  this  world  into  another.  She  was  refused  what  they  call  here 
the  rights  of  sepulture;  that  is  to  say,  she  was  denied  the  privilege  of  rotting  in 
a churchyard  by  the  side  of  all  the  beggars  in  the  parish.  She  was  buried  alone 
by  her  troupe  at  the  corner  of  Burgundy  Street,  which  must  certainly  have 
shocked  her  extremely,  as  she  had  very  exalted  notions  of  things.” 

“This  is  acting  very  impolitely,”  said  Candide. 

“Lord!”  said  Martin,  “what  can  be  said  to  it?  It  is  the  way  of  these  people. 
Figure  to  yourself  all  the  contradictions,  all  the  inconsistencies  possible,  and 

81 


you  may  meet  with  them  in  the  government,  the  courts  of  justice,  the  churches, 
and  the  public  spectacles  of  this  odd  nation.” 

“Is  it  true,”  said  Candide,  “that  the  people  of  Paris  are  always  laughing?” 
“Yes,”  replied  the  Abbé,  “but  it  is  with  anger  in  their  hearts;  they  express 
all  their  complaints  by  loud  bursts  of  laughter,  and  commit  the  most  detestable 
crimes  with  a smile  on  their  faces.” 

“Who  was  that  great  overgrown  beast,”  said  Candide,  “who  spoke  so  ill 
to  me  of  the  piece  with  which  I was  so  much  affected,  and  of  the  players  who 
gave  me  so  much  pleasure?” 

“A  good-for-nothing  sort  of  a man,”  answered  the  Abbé,  “one  who  gets 
his  livelihood  by  abusing  every  new  book  and  play;  he  abominates  to  see  anyone 
meet  with  success,  like  eunuchs,  who  detest  every  one  that  possesses  those 
powers  they  are  deprived  of;  he  is  one  of  those  vipers  in  literature  who  nourish 
themselves  with  their  own  venom;  a pamphlet-monger.” 

“A  pamphlet-monger!”  said  Candide,  “what  is  that?” 

“Why,  a pamphlet-monger,”  replied  the  Abbé,  “is  a writer  of  pamphlets, 
a Fréron.” 

Candide,  Martin,  and  the  Abbé  of  Périgord  argued  thus  on  the  staircase, 
while  they  stood  to  see  people  go  out  of  the  playhouse. 

“Though  I am  very  earnest  to  see  Miss  Cunegund  again,”  said  Candide,  “yet 
I have  a great  inclination  to  sup  with  Mlle.  Clairon,  for  I am  really  much 
taken  with  her.” 

The  Abbé  was  not  a person  to  show  his  face  at  this  lady’s  house,  which  was 
frequented  by  none  but  the  best  company. 

“She  is  engaged  this  evening,”  said  he;  “but  I will  do  myself  the  honour  of 
introducing  you  to  a lady  of  quality  of  my  acquaintance,  at  whose  house  you 
will  see  as  much  of  the  manners  of  Paris  as  if  you  had  lived  here  for  four  years.” 
Candide,  who  was  naturally  curious,  suffered  himself  to  be  conducted  to 
this  lady’s  house,  which  was  in  the  suburb  of  St.  Honoré.  The  company  were 
engaged  at  faro;  twelve  melancholy  punters  held  each  in  his  hand  a small  pack 
of  cards,  the  corners  of  which  doubled  down  were  so  many  registers  of  their  ill 
fortune.  A profound  silence  reigned  throughout  the  assembly,  a pallid  dread 
was  in  the  countenances  of  the  punters,  and  restless  anxiety  in  the  face  of  him 
who  kept  the  bank;  and  the  lady  of  the  house,  who  was  seated  next  to  him, 
observed  pitilessly  with  lynx’s  eyes  every  parole,  and  sept-et-le-va  as  they  were 
going,  as  likewise  those  who  tallied,  and  made  them  undouble  their  cards  with 
82 


a severe  exactness,  though  mixed  with  a politeness  which  she  thought  necessary 
not  to  frighten  away  her  customers.  This  lady  assumed  the  title  of  Marchioness 
of  Parolignac.  Her  daughter,  a girl  of  about  fifteen  years  of  age,  was  one  of  the 
punters,  and  took  care  to  give  her  mamma  an  item,  by  signs,  when  any  one  of 
them  attempted  to  repair  the  rigour  of  their  ill  fortune  by  a little  innocent  de- 
ception. The  company  were  thus  occupied  when  Candide,  Martin,  and  the 
Abbé  made  their  entrance:  not  a creature  rose  to  salute  them,  or  indeed  took 
the  least  notice  of  them,  being  wholly  intent  upon  the  business  in  hand. 

“Ah!’  said  Candide,  “my  lady  Baroness  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh  would 
have  behaved  more  civilly.” 

However,  the  Abbé  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  marchioness,  who  half  rose, 
and  honoured  Candide  with  a gracious  smile  and  Martin  with  a dignified  in- 
clination of  her  head.  She  then  ordered  a seat  for  Candide  and  a hand  of  cards. 
He  lost  fifty  thousand  francs  in  two  rounds.  After  that,  they  supped  very 
elegantly,  and  every  one  was  astounded  that  Candide  was  not  disturbed  at  his 
loss.  The  servants  said  to  each  other  in  their  servants’  language: 

“This  must  be  some  English  lord!” 

Supper  was  like  most  others  of  this  kind  in  Paris;  at  first  there  was  silence, 
then  there  was  an  indistinguishable  babel  of  words,  then  jokes,  most  of  them 
insipid,  false  reports,  bad  reasonings,  a little  political  talk,  and  much  scandal. 
They  spoke  also  of  new  books. 

“Have  you  seen,”  said  the  Abbé  of  Périgord,  “the  romance  written  by  Mon- 
sieur Gauchat,  the  doctor  of  theology?” 

“Yes,”  replied  one  of  the  guests,  “but  I had  not  the  patience  to  go  through 
it.  We  have  a throng  of  impertinent  writers,  but  all  of  them  together  do  not 
approach  Gauchat,  the  doctor  of  theology,  in  impertinence.  I am  so  sated  with 
reading  these  piles  of  vile  stuff  that  flood  upon  us  that  I even  resolved  to  come 
here  and  make  a part}'  at  faro.” 

“But  what  say  you  to  Archdeacon  Trublet’s  miscellanies?”  said  the  Abbé. 

“Oh,”  cried  the  Marchioness  of  Parolignac,  “tedious  creature.  What  pains 
he  is  at  to  tell  one  things  that  all  the  world  knows.  How  he  labours  an  argu- 
ment that  is  hardly  worth  the  slightest  consideration!  How  absurdly  he  makes 
use  of  other  people’s  wit!  How  he  mangles  what  he  pilfers  from  them!  How 
he  disgusts  me!  But  he  will  disgust  me  no  more.  It  is  enough  to  have  read  a 
few  pages  of  the  Archdeacon.” 

There  was  at  the  table  a person  of  learning  and  taste,  who  supported  what 

83 


the  Marchioness  had  advanced.  They  next  began  to  talk  of  tragedies.  The  lady 
desired  to  know  how  it  came  about  that  there  were  several  tragedies  which  still 
continued  to  be  played,  but  which  were  unreadable.  The  man  of  taste  ex- 
plained very  clearly  how  a piece  may  be  in  some  manner  interesting,  without 
having  a grain  of  merit.  He  showed,  in  a few  words,  that  it  is  not  sufficient  to 
throw  together  a few  incidents  that  are  to  be  met  with  in  every  romance,  and 
that  dazzle  the  spectator;  the  thoughts  should  be  new  without  being  far- 
fetched; frequently  sublime,  but  always  natural;  the  author  should  have  a thor- 
ough knowledge  of  the  human  heart  and  make  it  speak  properly.  He  should  be 
a complete  poet,  without  showing  an  affectation  of  it  in  any  of  the  characters  of 
his  piece;  he  should  be  a perfect  master  of  his  language,  speak  it  with  all  its 
purity,  and  with  the  utmost  harmony,  and  yet  not  so  as  to  make  the  sense  a 
slave  to  the  rhyme. 

“Whoever,”  added  he,  “neglects  any  of  these  rules,  though  he  may  write 
two  or  three  tragedies  with  tolerable  success,  will  never  be  reckoned  in  the 
number  of  good  authors.  There  are  a few  good  tragedies,  some  are  idylls,  in 
well-written  and  harmonious  dialogue,  and  others  a chain  of  political  reasonings 
that  send  one  to  sleep,  or  else  pompous  and  high-flown  amplifications  that  dis- 
gust rather  than  please.  Others  again  are  the  ravings  of  a madman,  in  an  un- 
couth sty  le,  with  unmeaning  flights,  or  long  apostrophes,  to  the  deities,  for  want 
of  knowing  how  to  address  mankind;  in  a word,  a collection  of  false  maxims 
and  dull  commonplaces.” 

Candide  listened  to  this  discourse  with  great  attention,  and  conceived  a 
high  opinion  for  the  person  who  delivered  it;  and  as  the  Marchioness  had  taken 
care  to  place  him  at  her  side,  he  took  the  liberty  to  whisper  softly  in  her  ear  and 
ask  who  this  person  was  who  spoke  so  well. 

“It  is  a man  of  letters,”  replied  her  ladyship,  “who  never  plays  and  whom 
the  Abbé  brings  with  him  to  my  house  sometimes  to  spend  an  evening.  He  is 
a great  judge  of  writing,  especially  in  tragedy;  he  has  composed  one  himself 
which  was  damned,  and  has  written  a book  which  was  never  seen  out  of  his 
bookseller’s  shop,  excepting  only  one  copy,  which  he  sent  me  with  a dedica- 
tion.” 

“What  a great  man,”  cried  Candide,  “he  is  a second  Pangloss.” 

Then,  turning  towards  him,  “Sir,”  said  he,  “you  are  doubtless  of  opinion  that 
everything  is  for  the  best  in  the  physical  and  moral  world  and  that  nothing 
could  be  otherwise  than  it  is?” 


“I,  Sir,”  replied  the  man  of  letters,  ‘‘I  think  no  such  thing,  I assure  you.  I 
find  that  all  in  this  world  is  set  the  wrong  end  uppermost.  No  one  knows  what 
is  his  rank,  his  office,  nor  what  he  does,  nor  what  he  should  do;  and  that  except 
for  our  evenings  which  we  generally  pass  tolerably  merrily,  the  rest  of  our  time 
is  spent  in  idle  disputes  and  quarrels,  Jansenists  against  Molinists,  the  Parlia- 
ment against  the  Church,  men  of  letters  against  men  of  letters,  countries 
against  countries,  financiers  against  the  people,  wives  against  husbands,  rela- 
tions against  relations.  In  short,  there  is  eternal  warfare.” 

“Yes,”  said  Candide,  “and  I have  seen  worse  than  all  that;  and  yet  a learned 
man,  who  had  the  misfortune  to  be  hanged,  taught  me  that  everything  was 
marvellously  well,  and  that  these  evils  you  are  speaking  of  were  only  so  many 
shadows  in  a beautiful  picture.” 

“Your  hempen  sage,”  said  Martin,  “laughed  at  you.  These  shadows  as  you 
call  them  are  most  horrible  blemishes.” 

“It  is  men  who  make  these  blemishes,”  rejoined  Candide,  “and  they  can- 
not do  otherwise.” 

“Then  it  is  not  their  fault,”  added  Martin. 

The  greater  part  of  the  gamesters,  who  did  not  understand  a syllable  of 
this  discourse,  continued  to  drink,  while  Martin  reasoned  with  the  learned 
gentleman,  and  Candide  recounted  some  of  his  adventures  to  the  lady  of  the 
house. 

After  supper,  the  Marchioness  conducted  Candide  into  her  dressing-room, 
and  made  him  sit  down  on  a sofa. 

“Well,”  said  she,  “are  you  still  so  violently  fond  of  Miss  Cunegund  of 
Thunder-ten-tronckh?” 

“Yes,  Madam,”  replied  Candide. 

The  Marchioness  said  to  him  with  a tender  smile,  “You  answer  like  a young 
man  from  Westphalia.  A Frenchman  would  have  said,  ‘It  is  true,  Madam,  I 
had  a great  passion  for  Miss  Cunegund,  but  since  I have  seen  you,  I fear  I can 
no  longer  love  her  as  I did.’  ” 

“Alas!  Madam,”  replied  Candide,  “I’ll  make  you  what  answer  you  please.” 

“You  fell  in  love  with  her,  I find,  in  picking  up  her  handkerchief.  You  shall 
pick  up  my  garter.” 

“With  all  my  heart,”  said  Candide. 

“But  you  must  tie  it  on,”  said  the  lady;  and  Candide  tied  it  on. 

“Look  you,”  said  the  lady,  “you  are  a stranger.  I make  some  of  my  lovers 

85 


here  in  Paris  languish  for  me  a fortnight,  but  I surrender  to  you  the  first  night, 
because  I am  willing  to  do  the  honours  of  my  country  to  a young  Westphalian.” 

The  fair  one  having  cast  her  eye  on  two  large  diamonds  on  the  young 
stranger’s  finger,  praised  them  in  so  earnest  a manner  that  they  passed  from 
Candide’s  fingers  to  those  of  the  marchioness. 

As  Candide  was  going  home  with  the  Abbé,  he  felt  some  qualms  of  con- 
science for  having  been  guilty  of  infidelity  to  Miss  Cunegund.  The  Abbé  shared 
with  him  in  his  uneasiness;  he  had  but  an  inconsiderable  share  in  the  fifty 
thousand  francs  that  Candide  had  lost  at  play,  and  in  the  value  of  the  two 
jewels,  half  given,  half  extorted  from  him.  His  plan  was  to  profit  as  much  as  he 
could  from  the  advantages  which  his  acquaintance  with  Candide  could  procure 
for  him.  He  spoke  to  him  much  of  Miss  Cunegund,  and  Candide  assured  him 
that  he  would  heartily  ask  pardon  of  that  fair  one  for  his  infidelity  to  her,  when 
he  saw  her  at  V enice. 

The  Abbé  redoubled  his  civilities  and  seemed  to  interest  himself  warmly 
in  everything  that  Candide  said,  did,  or  seemed  inclined  to  do. 

“And  so,  Sir,  you  have  a rendezvous  at  Venice?” 

“Yes,  Monsieur  l’Abbé,”  answered  Candide.  “I  must  indeed  go  and  find 
Miss  Cunegund.” 

Then  the  pleasure  he  took  in  talking  about  the  object  he  loved  led  him 
insensibly  to  relate,  according  to  custom,  part  of  his  adventures  with  the  illus- 
trious Westphalian  beauty. 

“I  fancy,”  said  the  Abbé,  “Miss  Cunegund  has  a great  deal  of  wit,  and  that 
her  letters  must  be  very  entertaining.” 

“I  never  received  any  from  her,”  said  Candide,  “for  you  are  to  consider  that 
being  kicked  out  of  the  castle  on  her  account,  I could  not  write  to  her;  espe- 
cially as,  soon  after  my  departure,  I heard  she  was  dead;  that  though  I found  her 
again,  I lost  her,  and  that  I have  sent  a messenger  to  her  two  thousand  five 
hundred  leagues  from  here,  and  I wait  here  for  his  return  with  an  answer  from 
her.” 

The  Abbé  listened  attentively— and  seemed  a little  thoughtful.  He  soon 
took  leave  of  the  two  strangers,  after  having  embraced  them  tenderly.  The 
next  day,  immediately  on  waking,  Candide  received  a letter  couched  in  these 
terms: 

“My  dearest  lover,  I have  been  ill  in  this  city  these  eight  days.  I have  heard 
of  your  arrival  and  should  fly  to  your  arms,  were  I able  to  move  a limb  of  me. 

86 


I was  informed  of  your  procedure  at  Bordeaux.  I left  there  the  faithful  Ca- 
cambo  and  the  old  woman  who  will  soon  follow  me.  The  Governor  of  Buenos 
Ayres  has  taken  everything  from  me;  but  I still  have  your  heart.  Come.  Your 
presence  will  restore  me  to  life  or  will  make  me  die  with  pleasure.” 

At  the  receipt  of  this  charming,  this  unexpected  letter,  Candide  felt  the 
utmost  joy,  though  the  malady  of  his  beloved  Cunegund  overwhelmed  him 
with  grief.  Distracted  between  these  two  passions,  he  took  his  gold  and  his 
diamonds  and  procured  a person  to  direct  him  with  Martin  to  the  house  where 
Miss  Cunegund  lodged.  He  entered,  trembling  with  emotion,  his  heart  flut- 


tered, his  tongue  faltered.  He  attempted  to  draw  the  curtain  apart,  and  called 
for  a light  to  the  bedside. 

“Take  care,”  said  the  servant,  “the  light  is  unbearable  to  her”;  and  imme- 
diately she  closed  the  curtains  again. 

“My  beloved,”  said  Candide,  weeping,  “how  are  you?  If  you  cannot  see 
me,  at  least  speak  to  me.” 

“She  cannot  speak,”  said  the  servant.  The  lady  then  put  from  the  bed  a 
plump  hand  which  Candide  bathed  with  his  tears;  then  filled  with  diamonds, 
leaving  a purse  full  of  gold  on  the  arm-chair. 


In  the  midst  of  his  transports  there  arrived  an  officer,  followed  by  the  Abbé 
of  Périgord  and  a file  of  musketeers. 

“There,”  said  he,  “are  the  two  suspected  foreigners.” 

He  had  them  seized  forthwith  and  bade  the  soldiers  carry  them  off  to 
prison. 

“Travellers  are  not  treated  in  this  manner  in  El  Dorado,”  said  Candide. 

“I  am  more  of  a Manichæan  now  than  ever,”  said  Martin. 

“But  pray,  good  Sir,  where  are  you  taking  us?”  asked  Candide. 

“To  a dungeon,”  said  the  officer. 

Martin  having  recovered  his  calm  judged  that  the  lady  who  pretended  to 
be  Cunegund  was  a cheat,  that  the  Abbé  of  Périgord  was  a sharper,  who  had  im- 
posed upon  Candide’s  simplicity  so  quickly  as  he  could,  and  the  officer  another 
knave  whom  they  might  easily  get  rid  of. 

Candide,  following  the  advice  of  his  friend  Martin,  and  burning  with  im- 
patience to  see  the  real  Cunegund,  rather  than  be  obliged  to  appear  at  a court 
of  justice,  proposed  to  the  officer  to  make  him  a present  of  three  small  dia- 
monds, each  of  them  worth  three  thousand  pistoles. 

“Ah,  Sir,”  said  this  understrapper  of  justice,  “had  you  committed  ever  so 
much  villainy,  this  would  render  you  the  honestest  man  living  in  my  eyes. 
Three  diamonds,  worth  three  thousand  pistoles.  Why,  my  dear  Sir,  so  far 
from  leading  you  to  jail,  I would  lose  my  life  to  serve  you.  There  are  orders  to 
arrest  all  strangers,  but  leave  it  to  me.  I have  a brother  at  Dieppe  in  Normandy. 
I myself  will  conduct  you  thither,  and  if  you  have  a diamond  left  to  give  him, 
he  will  take  as  much  care  of  you  as  I myself  should.” 

“But  why,”  said  Candide,  “do  they  arrest  all  strangers?” 

The  Abbé  of  Périgord  answered  that  it  was  because  a poor  devil  of  the 
province  of  Atrébatie  heard  somebody  tell  foolish  stories,  and  this  induced 
him  to  commit  a parricide;  not  such  a one  as  that  in  the  month  of  May,  1610, 
but  such  as  that  in  the  month  of  December  in  the  year  1 594,  and  such  as  many 
that  have  been  perpetrated  in  other  months  and  years  by  other  poor  devils 
who  had  heard  foolish  stories. 

The  officer  then  explained  to  them  what  the  Abbé  meant. 

“Monsters,”  exclaimed  Candide.  “Is  it  possible  that  such  horrors  should 
pass  among  a people  who  are  continually  singing  and  dancing?  Is  there  no 
immediate  means  of  flying  this  abominable  country,  where  monkeys  provoke 
tigers?  I have  seen  bears  in  my  country,  but  men  I have  beheld  nowhere  but 

88 


in  El  Dorado.  In  the  name  of  God,  Sir,”  said  he  to  the  officer,  “do  me  the 
kindness  to  conduct  me  to  Venice,  where  I am  to  wait  upon  Miss  Cunegund.” 

“I  cannot  conduct  you  further  than  Lower  Normandy,”  said  the  officer. 

So  saying,  he  ordered  Candide’s  irons  to  be  struck  off  and  sent  his  followers 
about  their  business,  after  which  he  conducted  Candide  and  Martin  to  Dieppe, 
and  left  them  to  the  care  of  his  brother.  There  happened  just  then  to  be  a small 
Dutch  ship  in  the  roads.  The  Norman,  whom  the  other  three  diamonds  had 
converted  into  the  most  obliging,  serviceable  being  that  ever  breathed,  took 
care  to  see  Candide  and  his  attendants  safe  on  board  the  vessel,  that  was  just 
ready  to  sail  for  Portsmouth  in  England.  This  was  not  the  nearest  way  to 
Venice  indeed;  but  Candide  thought  himself  escaped  out  of  hell,  and  did  not 
in  the  least  doubt  but  he  should  quickly  find  an  opportunity  of  resuming  his 
voyage  to  Venice. 


89 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


Candide  and  Martin  Touch  Upon  the  English  Coast; 

What  They  Saw  There 

“Ah  Pangloss!  Pangloss!  Ah,  Martin!  Martin!  Ah,  my  dear  Miss  Cunegund! 
What  sort  of  a world  is  this?’’  Thus  exclaimed  Candide,  as  soon  as  he  had  got 
on  board  the  Dutch  ship. 

“Why,  something  very  foolish,  and  very  abominable,”  said  Martin. 

“You  are  acquainted  with  England,”  said  Candide;  “are  they  as  great  fools 
in  that  country,  as  in  France?” 

“Yes,  but  in  a different  manner,”  answered  Martin.  “You  know  that  these 
two  nations  are  at  war  about  a few  acres  of  snow  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Canada,  and  that  they  have  expended  much  greater  sums  in  the  contest  than 
all  Canada  is  worth.  To  say  exactly  whether  there  are  a greater  number  fit  to 
be  inhabitants  of  a mad-house  in  the  one  country  than  the  other,  exceeds  the 
limits  of  my  imperfect  capacity;  I know,  in  general,  that  the  people  we  are 
going  to  visit,  are  of  a very  dark  and  gloomy  disposition.” 

As  they  were  chatting  thus  together,  they  arrived  at  Portsmouth.  The 
shore,  on  each  side  of  the  harbour,  was  lined  with  a multitude  of  people,  whose 
eyes  were  steadfastly  fixed  on  a lusty  man,  who  was  kneeling  down  on  the  deck 
of  one  of  the  men  of  war,  with  his  eyes  bound.  Opposite  to  this  personage 
stood  four  soldiers,  each  of  whom  shot  three  bullets  into  his  skull,  with  all  the 
composure  imaginable;  and  when  it  was  done,  the  whole  company  went  away 
perfectly  well  satisfied. 

“What  the  devil  is  all  this  for?”  said  Candide;  “and  what  demon  lords  it 
thus  over  all  the  world?” 

He  then  asked  who  was  that  lust}'  man  who  had  been  sent  out  of  the  world 
with  so  much  ceremony,  and  he  received  for  answer,  that  it  was  an  admiral. 

“And,  pray,”  he  said,  “why  do  you  put  your  admiral  to  death?” 

9° 


“Because  he  did  not  put  a sufficient  number  of  his  fellow  creatures  to  death. 
You  must  know,  he  had  an  engagement  with  a French  admiral,  and  it  has  been 
proved  against  him  that  he  was  not  near  enough  to  his  antagonist.” 

“But,”  replied  Candide,  “the  French  admiral  must  have  been  as  far  from 
him.” 

“There  is  no  doubt  of  that;  but  in  this  country  it  is  found  requisite,  now  and 
then,  to  put  one  admiral  to  death,  in  order  to  spirit  up  the  others.” 

Candide  was  so  shocked  at  what  he  saw  and  heard  that  he  would  not  set 
foot  on  shore,  but  made  a bargain  with  the  Dutch  skipper  (were  he  even  to  rob 
him  like  the  captain  of  Surinam  ) to  carry  him  directly  to  Venice. 

The  skipper  was  ready  in  two  days.  They  sailed  along  the  coast  of  France, 
and  passed  within  sight  of  Lisbon,  at  which  Candide  trembled.  From  thence 
they  proceeded  to  the  straits,  entered  the  Mediterranean,  and  at  length  arrived 
at  Venice. 

“God  be  praised,”  said  Candide,  embracing  Martin,  “this  is  the  place  where 
I am  to  behold  my  beloved  Cunegund  once  again.  I can  rely  on  Cacambo,  like 
another  self.  All  is  well,  all  very  well,  all  as  well  as  possible.” 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

Of  Pacquette  and  Friar  Giroflée 

Upon  their  arrival  at  Venice,  he  went  in  search  of  Cacambo  at  every  inn  and 
coffee-house,  and  among  all  the  ladies  of  pleasure;  but  could  hear  nothing  of 
him.  He  sent  every  day  to  inquire  of  every  ship  and  every  vessel  that  came  in: 
still  no  news  of  Cacambo. 

“It  is  strange!”  said  he  to  Martin,  “very  strange!  that  I should  have  had 
time  to  sail  from  Surinam  to  Bordeaux;  to  travel  from  thence  to  Paris,  to 
Dieppe,  to  Portsmouth;  to  sail  along  the  coast  of  Portugal  and  Spain,  and  up 
the  Mediterranean,  to  spend  some  months  in  Venice;  and  that  my  lovely 
Cunegund  should  not  have  arrived.  Instead  of  her,  I only  met  with  a Parisian 
impostor,  and  a rascally  Abbé  of  Périgord.  Cunegund  is  actually  dead,  and  I 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  follow  her.  Alas!  how  much  better  would  it  have 
been  for  me  to  have  remained  in  the  paradise  of  El  Dorado  than  to  have  re- 
turned to  this  cursed  Europe!  You  are  in  the  right,  my  dear  Martin;  you  are 
certainly  in  the  right;  all  is  misery  and  deceit.” 

He  fell  into  a deep  melancholy,  and  neither  went  to  the  opera  in  vogue, 
nor  partook  of  any  of  the  diversions  of  the  Carnival;  not  a woman  caused  him 
even  a moment’s  temptation. 

92 


Martin  said  to  him,  Upon  my  word,  I think  you  are  very  simple  to  imagine 
that  a rascally  valet,  with  five  or  six  millions  in  his  pocket,  would  go  in  search 
of  your  mistress  to  the  further  end  of  the  world,  and  bring  her  to  Venice  to 
meet  you.  If  he  finds  her,  he  will  take  her  for  himself;  if  he  does  not,  he  will 
take  another.  Let  me  advise  you  to  forget  your  valet  Cacambo,  and  your  mis- 
tress Cunegund.” 

Martin’s  speech  was  not  consoling.  Candide’s  melancholy  increased,  and 
Martin  never  left  proving  to  him  that  there  is  very  little  virtue  or  happiness  in 
this  world;  except,  perhaps,  in  El  Dorado  where  hardly  anybody  can  gain 
admittance. 

While  they  were  disputing  on  this  important  subject,  and  still  expecting 
Miss  Cunegund,  Candide  perceived  a young  Theatine  friar  in  St.  Mark’s  Place, 
with  a girl  under  his  arm.  The  Theatine  looked  fresh-coloured,  plump,  and 
vigorous;  his  eyes  sparkled;  his  air  and  gait  were  bold  and  lofty.  The  girl  was 
very  pretty,  and  was  singing  a song;  and  every  now  and  then  gave  her  Theatine 
an  amorous  ogle  and  wantonly  pinched  his  ruddy  cheeks. 

“You  will  at  least  allow,”  said  Candide  to  Martin,  “that  these  two  are 
happy.  Hitherto  I have  met  with  none  but  unfortunate  people  in  the  whole 
habitable  globe,  except  in  El  Dorado;  but,  as  to  this  couple,  I would  venture 
to  lay  a wager  they  are  happy.” 

“Done,”  said  Martin;  “they  are  not,  for  what  you  will.” 

“Well,  we  have  only  to  ask  them  to  dine  with  us,”  said  Candide,  “and 
you  will  see  whether  I am  mistaken  or  not.” 

Thereupon  he  accosted  them,  and  with  great  politeness  invited  them  to  his 
inn  to  eat  some  macaroni,  with  Lombard  partridges  and  caviare,  and  to  drink  a 
bottle  of  Montepulciano,  Lacrima  Christi,  Cyprus  and  Samos  wine.  The  girl 
blushed;  the  Theatine  accepted  the  invitation,  and  she  followed  him,  eyeing 
Candide  every  now  and  then  with  a mixture  of  surprise  and  confusion,  while 
the  tears  stole  down  her  cheeks.  No  sooner  did  she  enter  his  apartment  than 
she  cried  out: 

“How,  Mr.  Candide,  have  you  quite  forgotten  poor  Pacquette?  Do  you  not 
know  her  again?” 

Candide,  who  had  not  regarded  her  with  any  degree  of  attention  before, 
being  wholly  occupied  with  the  thoughts  of  his  dear  Cunegund,  exclaimed: 

“Ah!  is  it  you,  child?  Was  it  you  that  reduced  Dr.  Pangloss  to  that  fine 
condition  I saw  him  in?” 


93 


“Alas!  Sir,”  answered  Pacquette,  “it  was  I,  indeed.  I find  you  are  acquainted 
with  everything;  and  I have  been  informed  of  all  the  misfortunes  that  happened 
to  the  whole  family  of  my  lady  Baroness  and  the  fair  Cunegund.  But  I can 
safely  swear  to  you  that  my  lot  was  no  less  deplorable;  I was  innocence  itself 
when  you  saw  me  last.  A cordelier,  who  was  my  confessor,  easily  seduced  me; 
the  consequences  proved  terrible.  I was  obliged  to  leave  the  castle  some  time 
after  the  Baron  kicked  you  out  by  the  backside  from  there;  and  if  a famous 
surgeon  had  not  taken  compassion  on  me,  I had  been  a dead  woman.  Grati- 
tude obliged  me  to  live  with  him  some  time  as  a mistress:  his  wife,  who  was  a 
very  devil  for  jealousy,  beat  me  unmercifully  ever)'  day.  Oh!  she  was  a perfect 
fury.  The  doctor  himself  was  the  most  ugly  of  all  mortals,  and  I the  most 
wretched  creature  existing,  to  be  continually  beaten  for  a man  whom  I did  not 
love.  You  are  sensible,  Sir,  how  dangerous  it  was  for  an  ill-natured  woman  to 
be  married  to  a physician.  Incensed  at  the  behaviour  of  his  wife,  he  one  day 
gave  her  so  affectionate  a remedy  for  a slight  cold  she  had  caught,  that  she 
died  in  less  than  two  hours  in  most  dreadful  convulsions.  Her  relations  prose- 
cuted the  husband,  who  was  obliged  to  fly,  and  I was  sent  to  prison.  My  inno- 
cence would  not  have  saved  me,  if  I had  not  been  tolerably  handsome.  The 
judge  gave  me  my  liberty  on  condition  he  should  succeed  the  doctor.  How- 
ever, I was  soon  supplanted  by  a rival,  turned  off  without  a farthing,  and  obliged 
to  continue  the  abominable  trade  which  you  men  think  so  pleasing,  but  which 
to  us  unhappy  creatures  is  the  most  dreadful  of  all  sufferings.  At  length  I 
came  to  follow  the  business  at  Venice.  Ah!  Sir,  did  you  but  know  what  it  is  to 
be  obliged  to  lie  indifferently  with  old  tradesmen,  with  counsellors,  with  monks, 
gondoliers,  and  abbés;  to  be  exposed  to  all  their  insolence  and  abuse;  to  find  it 
often  necessary  to  borrow  a petticoat,  only  that  it  may  be  taken  up  by  some 
disagreeable  wretch;  to  be  robbed  by  one  gallant  of  what  we  get  from  another; 
to  be  subject  to  the  extortions  of  civil  magistrates;  and  to  have  for  ever  before 
one’s  eyes  the  prospect  of  old  age,  a hospital,  or  a dunghill,  you  would  conclude 
that  I am  one  of  the  most  unhappy  wretches  breathing.” 

Thus  did  Pacquette  unbosom  herself  to  honest  Candide  in  his  closet,  in  the 
presence  of  Martin,  who  took  occasion  to  say  to  him: 

“You  see  I have  half  won  the  wager  already.” 

Friar  Giroflée  was  all  this  time  in  the  parlour  refreshing  himself  with  a glass 
or  two  of  wine  till  dinner  w'as  readv. 

J 

“But,”  said  Candide  to  Pacquette,  “you  looked  so  gay  and  content,  when  I 

94 


met  you,  you  were  singing,  and  caressing  the  Theatine  with  so  much  fondness 
that  I absolutely  thought  you  as  happy  as  you  say  you  are  now  miserable.” 

“Ah!  dear  Sir,”  said  Pacquette,  “this  is  one  of  the  miseries  of  the  trade; 
yesterday  I was  stripped  and  beaten  by  an  officer;  yet  to-day  I must  appear  good- 
humoured  and  gay  to  please  a friar.” 

Candide  was  convinced,  and  acknowledged  that  Martin  was  in  the  right. 
They  sat  down  to  table  with  Pacquette  and  the  Theatine;  the  entertainment  was 
very  agreeable,  and  towards  the  end  they  began  to  converse  together  with  some 
freedom. 

“Father,”  said  Candide,  to  the  friar,  “you  seem  to  me  to  enjoy  a state  of 
happiness  that  even  kings  might  envy;  joy  and  health  arc  painted  in  your  counte- 
nance. You  have  a tight  pretty  wench  to  divert  you;  and  you  seem  to  be  per- 
fectly well  contented  with  your  condition  as  a Theatine.” 

“Faith,  Sir,”  said  Friar  Giroflée,  “I  wish  with  all  my  soul  the  Theatines  were 
every  one  of  them  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  I have  been  tempted  a thousand 
times  to  set  fire  to  the  convent  and  go  and  turn  Turk.  My  parents  obliged  me, 
at  the  age  of  fifteen,  to  put  on  this  detestable  habit  only  to  increase  the  fortune 
of  an  elder  brother  of  mine,  whom  God  confound!  Jealousy,  discord,  and  fury 
reside  in  our  convent.  It  is  true,  I have  preached  some  paltry  sermons,  by  which 
I have  got  a little  money,  half  of  which  the  prior  robs  me  of,  and  the  remainder 
helps  to  pay  my  girls;  but,  at  night,  when  I go  hence  to  my  convent,  I am  ready 
to  dash  my  brains  against  the  walls  of  the  dormitory;  and  this  is  the  case  with 
all  the  rest  of  our  fraternity.” 

Martin,  turning  towards  Candide,  with  his  usual  indifference,  said,  “Well, 
what  think  you  now?  Have  I won  the  wager  entirely?” 

Candide  gave  two  thousand  piastres  to  Pacquette,  and  a thousand  to  Friai 
Giroflée,  saying,  “I  will  answer  that  this  will  make  them  happy.” 

“I  am  not  of  your  opinion,”  said  Martin;  “perhaps  this  money  will  only 
make  them  much  more  wretched.” 

“Be  that  as  it  may,”  said  Candide,  “one  thing  comforts  me;  I see  that  one 
often  meets  with  those  whom  we  expected  never  to  see  again;  so  that,  perhaps, 
as  I have  found  my  red  sheep  and  Pacquette,  I may  be  lucky  enough  to  find 
Miss  Cunegund  also.” 

“I  wish,”  said  Martin,  “she  one  day  may  make  you  happy,  but  I doubt  it 
much.” 

“You  are  very  hard  of  belief,”  said  Candide. 


95 


“It  is  because,”  said  Martin,  “I  have  seen  the  world.” 

“Observe  those  gondoliers,”  said  Candide;  “are  they  not  perpetually  sing- 
ing?” 

“You  do  not  see  them,”  answered  Martin,  “at  home  with  their  wives  and 
brats.  The  doge  has  his  chagrin,  gondoliers  theirs.  Nevertheless,  in  the  main, 
I look  upon  the  gondolier’s  life  as  preferable  to  that  of  the  doge;  but  the  differ- 
ence is  so  trifling  that  it  is  not  worth  the  trouble  of  examining  into.” 

“I  have  heard  great  talk,”  said  Candide,  “of  the  senator  Pococurante,  who 
lives  in  that  fine  house  at  the  Brenta,  where,  they  say,  he  entertains  foreigners 
in  the  most  polite  manner.  They  claim  that  this  man  is  a perfect  stranger  to 
uneasiness.” 

“I  should  be  glad  to  see  so  extraordinary  a being,”  said  Martin. 

Candide  thereupon  sent  a messenger  to  Signor  Pococurante,  desiring  per- 
mission to  wait  on  him  the  next  day. 


96 


CHAPTER  XXV 

Candide  and  Martin  Pay  a Visit  to  Signor  Pococurante,  a Noble  Venetian 

Candide  and  his  friend  Martin  went  in  a gondola  on  the  Brcnta,  and  arrived 
at  the  palace  of  the  noble  Pococurante:  the  gardens  were  laid  out  in  an  elegant 
taste,  and  adorned  with  beautiful  marble  statues;  his  palace  was  architecturally 
magnificent.  The  master  of  the  house,  who  was  a man  of  sixty,  and  very  rich, 
received  our  two  travellers  with  great  politeness,  but  without  much  ceremony, 
which  somewhat  disconcerted  Candide,  but  was  not  at  all  displeasing  to  Martin. 

First,  two  very  pretty  girls,  neatly  dressed,  brought  in  chocolate,  which  was 
extremely  well  frothed.  Candide  could  not  help  praising  their  beauty  and  grace- 
ful carriage. 

“The  creatures  are  well  enough,”  said  the  senator;  “I  make  them  lie  with 
me  sometimes,  for  I am  heartily  tired  of  the  women  ~f  the  town,  their  coquetry, 
their  jealousy,  their  quarrels,  their  humours,  their  meannesses,  their  pride,  and 
their  folly;  I am  weary  of  making  sonnets,  or  of  paying  for  sonnets  to  be  made 
on  them;  but,  after  all,  these  two  girls  begin  to  grow  very  indifferent  to  me.” 


97 


After  having  refreshed  himself,  Candide  walked  into  a large  gallery,  where 
he  was  struck  with  the  sight  of  a fine  collection  of  paintings.  He  asked  what 
master  had  painted  the  two  first. 

“They  are  Raphael’s,”  answered  the  senator.  “I  gave  a great  deal  of  money 
for  them  some  years  ago,  purely  out  of  conceit,  as  they  were  said  to  be  the  finest 
pieces  in  Italy;  but  I cannot  say  they  please  me:  the  colouring  is  dark  and  heavy; 
the  figures  do  not  swell  nor  come  out  enough,  and  the  drapery  has  no  resem- 
blance to  the  actual  material.  In  short,  notwithstanding  the  encomiums  lav- 
ished upon  them,  they  are  not,  in  my  opinion,  a true  representation  of  nature. 
I approve  of  no  paintings  but  where  I think  I behold  nature  herself;  and  there 
are  none  of  that  kind  to  be  met  with.  I have  what  is  called  a fine  collection, 
but  I take  no  manner  of  delight  in  them.” 

While  dinner  was  getting  ready,  Pococurante  ordered  a concert.  Candide 
praised  the  music  to  the  skies. 

“This  noise,”  said  the  noble  Venetian,  “may  amuse  one  for  a little  time,  but 
if  it  was  to  last  above  half  an  hour,  it  would  grow  tiresome  to  everybody,  though 
perhaps  no  one  would  care  to  own  it.  Music  is  become  the  art  of  executing 
what  is  difficult;  now,  whatever  is  difficult  cannot  be  long  pleasing.  I believe 
I might  take  more  pleasure  in  an  opera,  if  they  had  not  made  such  a monster  of 
it  as  perfectly  shocks  me;  and  I am  amazed  how  people  can  bear  to  see  wretched 
tragedies  set  to  music;  where  the  scenes  are  contrived  for  no  other  purpose  than 
to  lug  in,  as  it  were  by  the  ears,  three  or  four  ridiculous  songs,  to  give  a favourite 
actress  an  opportunity  of  exhibiting  her  pipe.  Let  who  will,  or  can,  die  away  in 
raptures  at  the  trills  of  an  eunuch  quavering  the  majestic  part  of  Caesar  or 
Cato,  and  strutting  in  a foolish  manner  upon  the  stage;  for  my  part,  I have  long 
ago  renounced  these  paltry  entertainments  which  constitute  the  glory  of  mod- 
ern Italy,  and  are  so  dearly  purchased  by  crowned  heads.” 

Candide  opposed  these  sentiments;  but  he  did  it  in  a discreet  manner;  as 
for  Martin,  he  was  entirely  of  the  old  senator’s  opinion. 

Dinner  being  served  they  sat  down  to  table,  and  after  a very  hearty  repast 
returned  to  the  library.  Candide,  observing  Ilomer  richly  bound,  commended 
the  noble  Venetian’s  taste. 

“This,”  said  he,  “is  a book  that  was  once  the  delight  of  the  great  Pangloss, 
the  best  philosopher  in  Germany.” 

“Homer  is  no  favourite  of  mine,”  answered  Pococurante,  very  coolly:  “I  was 
made  to  believe  once  that  I took  a pleasure  in  reading  him;  but  his  continual 
98 


repetitions  of  battles  have  all  such  a resemblance  with  each  other;  his  gods  that 
are  for  ever  in  a hurry  and  bustle,  without  ever  doing  anything;  his  Helen,  that 
is  the  cause  of  the  war,  and  yet  hardly  acts  in  the  whole  performance;  his  Troy, 
that  holds  out  so  long,  without  being  taken:  in  short,  all  these  things  together 
make  the  poem  very  insipid  to  me.  1 have  asked  some  learned  men,  whether 
they  are  not  in  reality  as  much  tired  as  myself  with  reading  this  poet:  those 
who  were  sincere  assured  me  that  he  had  made  them  fall  asleep;  and  yet,  that 
they  could  not  well  avoid  giving  him  a place  in  their  libraries  as  a monument  of 
antiquity  or  like  those  rusty  medals  which  are  of  no  use  in  commerce.” 

“But  your  Excellency  does  not  surely  form  the  same  opinion  of  Virgil?” 
said  Candide. 

“Why,  I grant,”  replied  Pococurante,  “that  the  second,  third,  fourth,  and 
sixth  book  of  his  Æneid  are  excellent;  but  as  for  his  pious  Æneas,  his  strong 
Cloanthus,  his  friendly  Achates,  his  boy  Ascanius,  his  silly  king  Latinus,  his 
ill-bred  Amata,  his  insipid  Lavinia,  I think  there  cannot  in  nature  be  anything 
more  flat  and  disagreeable.  I must  confess,  I prefer  Tasso  far  beyond  him; 
nay,  even  that  sleepy  tale-teller  Ariosto.” 

“May  I take  the  liberty'  to  ask  if  you  do  not  receive  great  pleasure  from 
reading  Horace?”  said  Candide. 

“There  are  maxims  in  this  writer,”  said  Pococurante,  “from  whence  a 
man  of  the  world  may  reap  some  benefit;  and  the  short  and  forceful  measure  of 
the  verse  makes  them  more  easily  to  be  retained  in  the  memory.  But  I see 
nothing  extraordinary  in  his  journey  to  Brundisium,  and  his  account  of  his  bad 
dinner;  nor  in  his  dirty  low  quarrel  between  one  Rupilius,  whose  words,  as  he 
expresses  it,  were  full  of  poisonous  filth,  and  another,  whose  language  was 
dipped  in  vinegar.  His  indelicate  verses  against  old  women  and  witches  have 
frequently  given  me  great  offence;  nor  can  I discover  the  great  merit  of  his  tell- 
ing his  friend  Maecenas  that  if  he  will  but  rank  him  in  the  class  of  lyric  poets, 
his  lofty  head  shall  touch  the  stars.  Ignorant  readers  are  apt  to  praise  everything 
by  the  lump  in  a writer  of  reputation.  For  my  part,  I read  only  to  please  myself. 
I like  nothing  but  what  makes  for  my  purpose.” 

Candide,  who  had  been  brought  up  with  a notion  of  never  making  use  of 
his  own  judgment,  was  astonished  at  what  he  had  heard;  but  Martin  found 
there  was  a good  deal  of  reason  in  the  senator’s  remarks. 

“Oh!  here  is  a Cicero,”  said  Candide:  “this  great  man,  I fancy,  you  are 
never  tired  of  reading?” 


99 


“Indeed,  I never  read  him  at  all,”  replied  Pococurante.  “What  a deuce  is 
it  to  me  whether  he  pleads  for  Rabirius  or  Cluentius?  I try  causes  enough  my- 
self. I had  once  some  liking  for  his  philosophical  works;  but  when  I found  he 
doubted  of  everything,  I thought  I knew  as  much  as  he,  and  had  no  need  of  a 
guide  to  learn  ignorance.” 

“Ha!”  cried  Martin,  “here  are  fourscore  volumes  of  the  memoirs  of  the 
Academy  of  Science;  perhaps  there  may  be  something  valuable  in  them.” 

“Yes,”  answered  Pococurante;  “so  there  might  if  any  one  of  the  compilers 
of  this  rubbish  had  only  invented  the  art  of  pin-making:  but  all  these  volumes 
are  filled  with  mere  chimerical  systems  without  one  single  article  conducive 
to  real  utility.” 

“I  see  a prodigious  number  of  plays,”  said  Candide,  “in  Italian,  Spanish, 
and  French.” 

“Yes,”  replied  the  Venetian;  “there  are  I think  three  thousand,  and  not 
three  dozen  of  them  good  for  anything.  As  to  these  huge  volumes  of  divinity, 
and  those  enormous  collections  of  sermons,  they  are  altogether  not  worth  one 
single  page  in  Seneca;  and  I fancy  you  will  readily  believe  that  neither  myself, 
nor  any  one  else,  ever  looks  into  them.” 

Martin  noticed  some  shelves  filled  with  English  books. 

“I  fancy,”  he  said,  “that  a republican  must  be  highly  delighted  with  those 
books,  which  are  most  of  them  written  with  a noble  spirit  of  freedom.” 

“It  is  noble  to  write  as  we  think,”  said  Pococurante;  “it  is  the  privilege  of 
humanity.  Throughout  Italy  we  write  only  what  we  do  not  think;  and  the  pres- 
ent inhabitants  of  the  country  of  the  Caesars  and  Antoninus’s  dare  not  acquire 
a single  idea  without  the  permission  of  a Dominican  friar.  I should  be  enam- 
oured of  the  spirit  of  the  English  nation,  did  it  not  utterly  frustrate  the  good 
effects  it  would  produce,  by  passion  and  the  spirit  of  party.” 

Candide,  seeing  a Milton,  asked  the  senator  if  he  did  not  think  that  author 
a great  man. 

“Who?”  said  Pococurante  sharply;  “that  barbarian  who  writes  a tedious 
commentary  in  ten  books  of  rumbling  verse,  on  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis? 
that  slovenly  imitator  of  the  Greeks,  who  disfigures  the  creation,  by  making  the 
Messiah  take  a pair  of  compasses  from  heaven’s  armoury  to  plan  the  world; 
whereas  Moses  represented  the  Deity  as  producing  the  whole  universe  by  his 
fiat?  Can  I,  think  you,  have  any  esteem  for  a writer  who  has  spoiled  Tasso’s 
hell  and  the  devil?  who  transforms  Lucifer  sometimes  into  a toad,  and,  at 


100 


others,  into  a pigmy?  who  makes  him  say  the  same  thing  over  again  a hundred 
times?  who  metamorphoses  him  into  a school-divine?  and  who,  by  an  absurdly 
serious  imitation  of  Ariosto’s  comic  invention  of  fire-arms,  represents  the  devils 
and  angels  cannonading  each  other  in  heaven?  Neither  I nor  any  other  Italian 
can  possibly  take  pleasure  in  such  melancholy  reveries;  but  the  marriage  of 
Sin  and  Death,  and  snakes  issuing  from  the  womb  of  the  former,  are  enough 
to  make  any  person  sick  that  is  not  lost  to  all  sense  of  delicacy,  while  his  long 
description  of  a lazar-house  is  fit  only  for  a gravedigger.  This  obscene,  whimsi- 
cal and  disagreeable  poem  met  with  neglect  at  its  first  publication;  and  I only 
treat  the  author  now  as  he  was  treated  in  his  own  country  by  his  contem- 
poraries.” 

Candide  was  sensibly  grieved  at  this  speech,  as  he  had  a great  respect  for 
Homer  and  was  very'  fond  of  Milton. 

“Alas!”  said  he  softly  to  Martin,  “I  am  afraid  this  man  holds  our  German 
poets  in  great  contempt.” 

“There  would  be  no  such  great  harm  in  that,”  said  Martin. 

“O  what  a surprising  man!”  said  Candide,  still  to  himself;  “what  a prodi- 
gious genius  is  this  Pococurante!  nothing  can  please  him.” 

After  finishing  their  survey  of  the  library,  they  went  down  into  the  garden, 
when  Candide  commended  the  several  beauties  that  offered  themselves  to  his 
view. 

“I  know  nothing  upon  earth  laid  out  in  such  bad  taste,”  said  Pococurante; 
“everything  about  it  is  childish  and  trifling;  but  I shall  have  another  laid  out  to- 
morrow upon  a nobler  plan.” 

As  soon  as  our  two  travellers  had  taken  leave  of  his  Excellency,  Candide 
said  to  Martin: 

“I  hope  you  will  own  that  this  man  is  the  happiest  of  all  mortals,  for  he  is 
above  everything  he  possesses.” 

“But  do  not  you  see,”  answered  Martin,  “that  he  likewise  dislikes  every- 
thing he  possesses?  It  was  an  observation  of  Plato,  long  since,  that  those  are 
not  the  best  stomachs  that  reject,  without  distinction,  all  sorts  of  aliments.” 

“True,”  said  Candide,  “but  still  there  must  certainly  be  a pleasure  in 
criticizing  everything,  and  in  perceiving  faults  where  others  think  they  see 
beauties.” 

“That  is,”  replied  Martin,  “there  is  a pleasure  in  having  no  pleasure.” 


101 


“Well,  well,”  said  Candide,  “I  find  that  I shall  be  the  only  happy  man  at 
last,  when  I am  blessed  with  the  sight  of  my  dear  Cunegund.” 

“It  is  good  to  hope,”  said  Martin. 

In  the  meanwhile,  days  and  weeks  passed  away,  and  no  news  of  Cacambo. 
Candide  was  so  overwhelmed  with  grief,  that  he  did  not  reflect  on  the  be- 
haviour of  Pacquette  and  Friar  Giroflée,  who  never  stayed  to  return  him  thanks 
for  the  presents  he  had  so  generously  made  them. 


102 


CHAPTER  XXVI 


Candide  and  Martin  Sup  with  Six  Strangers; 
and  Who  They  Were 

One  evening  when  Candide,  with  his  attendant  Martin,  were  going  to  sit  down 
to  supper  with  some  foreigners  who  lodged  in  the  same  inn,  a man,  with  a face 
the  colour  of  soot,  came  behind  him,  and  taking  him  by  the  arm,  said: 

“Hold  yourself  in  readiness  to  go  along  with  us,  be  sure  you  do  not  fail.” 

He  turned  and  beheld  Cacambo.  Nothing  but  the  sight  of  Cunegund 
could  have  given  greater  joy  and  surprise.  He  was  almost  beside  himself  with 
joy.  After  embracing  this  dear  friend,  he  said: 

“Cunegund  must  be  here?  Where,  where  is  she?  Carry  me  to  her  this 
instant,  that  I may  die  with  joy  in  her  presence.” 

“Cunegund  is  not  here,”  answered  Cacambo;  “she  is  at  Constantinople.” 
“Good  heavens,  at  Constantinople!  but  no  matter  if  she  was  in  China,  I 
would  fly  thither.  Let  us  be  gone.” 

“We  depart  after  supper,”  said  Cacambo.  “I  cannot  at  present  stay  to  say 
anything  more  to  you;  I am  a slave,  and  my  master  waits  for  me;  I must  go  and 
attend  him  at  table:  but  say  not  a word,  only  get  your  supper,  and  hold  yourself 
in  readiness.” 

Candide,  divided  between  joy  and  grief,  charmed  to  have  thus  met  with  his 
faithful  agent  again,  and  surprised  to  hear  he  was  a slave,  his  heart  palpitating, 
his  senses  confused,  but  full  of  the  hopes  of  recovering  his  mistress,  sat  down  to 
table  with  Martin,  who  beheld  all  these  scenes  with  great  unconcern,  and  with 
six  strangers  who  had  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice. 

Cacambo  waited  at  table  upon  one  of  these  strangers.  When  supper  was 
nearly  over,  he  drew  near  to  his  master,  and  whispered  him  in  the  ear: 

“Sire,  your  Majesty  may  go  when  you  please,  the  ship  is  ready.” 

Having  said  these  words,  he  left  the  room.  The  guests,  surprised  at  what 

103 


they  had  heard,  looked  at  each  other  without  speaking  a word;  when  another 
servant  drawing  near  to  his  master,  in  like  manner  said: 

“Sire,  your  Majesty’s  post-chaise  is  at  Padua,  and  the  bark  is  ready.” 

His  master  made  him  a sign,  and  he  instantly  withdrew.  The  company  all 
stared  at  each  other  again,  and  the  general  astonishment  was  increased.  A 
third  servant  then  approached  another  of  the  strangers,  and  said: 

“Sire,  if  your  Majesty  will  be  advised  by  me,  you  will  not  stay  any  longer  in 
this  place;  I will  go  and  get  everything  ready”— and  he  instantly  disappeared. 

Candide  and  Martin  then  took  it  for  granted  that  this  was  some  of  the 
diversions  of  the  carnival,  and  that  these  were  characters  in  masquerade.  Then 
a fourth  domestic  said  to  the  fourth  stranger: 

“Your  Majesty  may  set  out  when  you  please.”  Saying  this,  he  went  away 
like  the  rest. 

A fifth  valet  said  the  same  to  a fifth  master.  But  the  sixth  domestic  spoke 
in  a different  style  to  the  person  on  whom  he  waited,  and  who  sat  next  to 
Candide. 

“Troth,  Sir,”  said  he,  “they  will  trust  your  Majesty  no  longer,  nor  myself 
neither;  and  we  may  both  of  us  chance  to  be  sent  to  gaol  this  very  night;  and 
therefore  I shall  take  care  of  myself,  and  so  adieu.” 

The  servants  being  all  gone,  the  six  strangers,  with  Candide  and  Martin, 
remained  in  a profound  silence.  At  length  Candide  broke  it  by  saying: 

“Gentlemen,  this  is  a very  singular  joke,  upon  my  word;  why,  how  came 
you  all  to  be  kings?  For  my  part,  I own  frankly,  that  neither  my  friend  Martin 
here  nor  myself  have  any  claim  to  royalty.” 

Cacambo’s  master  then  began,  with  great  gravity,  to  deliver  himself  thus 
in  Italian: 

“I  am  not  joking  in  the  least,  my  name  is  Achmet  III.  I was  Grand  Sultan 
for  many  years;  I dethroned  my  brother,  my  nephew  dethroned  me,  my  viziers 
lost  their  heads,  and  I am  condemned  to  end  my  days  in  the  old  seraglio.  My 
nephew,  the  Grand  Sultan  Mahmud,  gives  me  permission  to  travel  sometimes 
for  my  health,  and  I am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice.” 

A young  man  who  sat  by  Achmet  spoke  next,  and  said: 

“My  name  is  Ivan.  I was  once  Emperor  of  all  the  Russias,  but  was  de- 
throned in  my  cradle.  My  parents  were  confined,  and  I was  brought  up  in  a 
prison;  yet  I am  sometimes  allowed  to  travel,  though  always  with  persons  to 
keep  a guard  over  me,  and  I am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice.” 

104 


The  third  said: 

I am  Charles  Edward,  King  of  England;  my  father  has  renounced  his  right 
to  the  throne  in  my  favour.  I have  fought  in  defence  of  my  rights,  and  eight 
hundred  of  my  followers  have  had  their  hearts  taken  out  of  their  bodies  alive 
and  thrown  in  their  faces.  I have  myself  been  confined  in  a prison.  I am  going 
to  Rome  to  visit  the  King  my  father,  who  was  dethroned  as  well  as  myself  and 
my  grandfather;  and  I am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice.” 

The  fourth  spoke  thus: 

“I  am  the  King  of  Poland;  the  fortune  of  war  has  stripped  me  of  my  heredi- 
tary dominions.  My  father  experienced  the  same  vicissitudes  of  fate.  I resign 
myself  to  the  will  of  Providence,  in  the  same  manner  as  Sultan  Achmet,  the 
Emperor  Ivan,  and  King  Charles  Edward,  whom  God  long  preserve;  and  I am 
come  to  spend  the  carnival  at  Venice.” 

The  fifth  said: 

“I  am  King  of  Poland  also.  I have  twice  lost  my  kingdom;  but  Providence 
has  given  me  other  dominions,  where  I have  done  more  good  than  all  the 
Sarmatian  kings  put  together  were  ever  able  to  do  on  the  banks  of  the  Vistula: 
I resign  myself  likewise  to  Providence;  and  am  come  to  spend  the  carnival  at 
Venice.” 

It  now  came  to  the  sixth  monarch’s  turn  to  speak. 

“Gentlemen,”  said  he,  “I  am  not  so  great  a prince  as  the  rest  of  you,  it  is 
true;  but  I am,  however,  a crowned  head.  I am  Theodore,  elected  King  of 
Corsica.  I have  had  the  title  of  Majesty,  and  am  now  hardly  treated  with 
common  civility.  I have  coined  money,  and  am  not  now  worth  a single  ducat. 
I have  had  two  secretaries  of  state,  and  am  now  without  a valet.  I was  once 
seated  on  a throne,  and  since  that  have  lain  upon  a truss  of  straw  in  a common 
gaol  in  London,  and  I very  much  fear  I shall  meet  with  the  same  fate  here  in 
Venice,  where  I come,  like  your  Majesties,  to  divert  myself  at  the  carnival.” 

The  other  five  kings  listened  to  this  speech  with  great  attention;  it  excited 
their  compassion;  each  of  them  made  the  unhappy  Theodore  a present  of 
twenty  sequins  to  get  clothes  and  shirts,  and  Candide  gave  him  a diamond 
worth  just  an  hundred  times  that  sum. 

“Who  can  this  private  person  be,”  said  the  five  kings,  “who  is  able  to  give, 
and  has  actually  given,  a hundred  times  as  much  as  any  of  us?  Are  you,  Sir, 
also  a king?” 

“No,  gentlemen,  and  I have  no  wish  to  be  one.’’ 

i°5 


Just  as  they  rose  from  table,  in  came  four  Serene  Highnesses  who  had  also 
been  stripped  of  their  territories  by  the  fortune  of  war,  and  were  come  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  carnival  at  Venice.  Candide  took  no  manner  of  notice 
of  them;  for  his  thoughts  were  wholly  employed  on  his  voyage  to  Constan- 
tinople, whither  he  intended  to  go  in  search  of  his  beloved  Cunegund. 


106 


CHAPTER  XXVII 


Candide’s  Voyage  to  Constantinople 

The  trusty  Cacambo  had  already  engaged  the  captain  of  the  Turkish  ship  that 
was  to  carry  Sultan  Achmet  back  to  Constantinople,  to  take  Candide  and 
Martin  on  board.  Accordingly,  they  both  embarked,  after  paying  their  obei- 
sance to  his  miserable  Highness.  As  they  were  going  on  board.  Candide  said 
to  Martin  : 

“You  see  we  supped  in  company  with  six  dethroned  kings,  and  to  one  of 
them  I gave  charity.  Perhaps  there  may  be  a great  many  other  princes  still  more 
unfortunate.  For  my  part,  I have  lost  only  a hundred  sheep,  and  am  now  go- 
ing to  fly  to  the  arms  of  Cunegund.  My  dear  Martin,  I must  insist  on  it,  that 
Pangloss  was  in  the  right.  All  is  for  the  best.” 

“I  wish  it  may  be,”  said  Martin. 

“But  this  was  an  odd  adventure  we  met  with  at  Venice.  I do  not  think 
there  ever  was  an  instance  before,  of  six  dethroned  monarchs  supping  together 
at  a public  inn.” 

“This  is  no  more  extraordinary,”  said  Martin,  “than  most  of  what  has  hap- 
pened to  us.  It  is  a very  common  thing  for  kings  to  be  dethroned;  and  as  for  our 
having  the  honour  to  sup  with  six  of  them,  it  is  a mere  accident,  not  deserving 
our  attention.  What  does  it  matter  with  whom  one  sups,  provided  one  has 
good  fare?” 

As  soon  as  Candide  set  his  foot  on  board  the  vessel,  he  flew  to  his  old  friend 
and  servant  Cacambo;  and  throwing  his  arms  about  his  neck,  embraced  him 
with  transports  of  joy. 

“Well,”  said  he,  “what  news  of  Cunegund?  Does  she  still  continue  the 
paragon  of  beauty?  Does  she  love  me  still?  How  is  she?  You  have,  doubtless, 
purchased  a palace  for  her  at  Constantinople?” 

“My  dear  master,”  replied  Cacambo,  “Cunegund  washes  dishes  on  the 

107 


banks  of  the  Propontis,  in  the  house  of  a prince  who  has  very  few  to  wash.  She 
is  at  present  a slave  in  the  family  of  an  ancient  sovereign,  named  Ragotsky, 
whom  the  Grand  Turk  allows  three  crowns  a day  to  maintain  him  in  his  exile; 
but  the  most  melancholy  circumstance  of  all  is,  that  she  has  lost  her  beauty  and 
turned  horribly  ugly.” 

“Ugly  or  handsome,”  said  Candide,  “I  am  a man  of  honour;  and,  as  such, 
am  obliged  to  love  her  still.  But  how  could  she  possibly  have  been  reduced  to 
so  abject  a condition,  when  I sent  five  or  six  millions  to  her  by  you?” 

“Lord  bless  me,”  said  Cacambo,  “was  not  I obliged  to  give  two  millions  to 
Senor  Don  Fernando  d’Ibaraa  y Figueora  y Mascarenas  y Lampourdos  y Souza, 
Governor  of  Buenos  Ayres,  for  liberty  to  take  Miss  Cunegund  away  with  me? 
and  then  did  not  a brave  fellow  of  a pirate  very  gallantly  strip  us  of  all  the  rest? 
and  then  did  not  this  same  pirate  carry  us  with  him  to  Cape  Matapan,  to  Milo, 
to  Nicaria,  to  Samos,  to  Petra,  to  the  Dardanelles,  to  Marmora,  to  Scutari? 
Cunegund  and  the  old  woman  are  now  servants  to  the  prince  I have  told  you  of; 
and  I myself  am  slave  to  the  dethroned  Sultan.” 

“What  a chain  of  terrible  calamities!”  exclaimed  Candide.  “But,  after  all, 
I have  still  some  diamonds  left,  with  which  I can  easily  procure  Cunegund’s 
liberty.  It  is  a pity  she  is  grown  so  very  ugly.” 

Then  turning  to  Martin,  “What  think  you,  friend,”  said  he,  “whose  con- 
dition is  most  to  be  pitied,  the  Emperor  Achmet’s,  the  Emperor  Ivan’s,  King 
Charles  Edward’s,  or  mine?” 

“Faith,  I cannot  resolve  your  question,”  said  Martin,  “unless  I had  been  in 
the  breasts  of  you  all.” 

“Ah!”  cried  Candide,  “was  Pangloss  here  now,  he  would  have  known,  and 
satisfied  me  at  once.” 

“I  know  not,”  said  Martin,  “in  what  balance  your  Pangloss  could  have 
weighed  the  misfortunes  of  mankind,  and  have  set  a just  estimation  on  their 
sufferings.  All  that  I pretend  to  know  of  the  matter  is  that  there  are  millions 
of  men  on  the  earth  whose  conditions  are  an  hundred  times  more  pitiable 
than  those  of  King  Charles  Edward,  the  Emperor  Ivan,  or  Sultan  Achmet.” 

“Why,  that  may  be,”  answered  Candide. 

In  a few  days  they  reached  the  Bosphorus;  and  the  first  thing  Candide  did 
was  to  pay  a high  ransom  for  Cacambo:  then,  without  losing  time,  he  and  his 
companions  went  on  board  a galley,  in  order  to  search  for  his  Cunegund,  on  the 
banks  of  the  Propontis,  notwithstanding  she  was  grown  so  ugly. 

108 


There  were  two  slaves  among  the  crew  of  the  galley,  who  rowed  very  ill,  and 
to  whose  bare  backs  the  master  of  the  vessel  frequently  applied  a lash  of  oxhide. 
Candide,  from  natural  sympathy,  looked  at  these  two  slaves  more  attentively 
than  at  any  of  the  rest,  and  drew  near  them  with  a look  of  pity.  Their  features, 
though  greatly  disfigured,  appeared  to  him  to  bear  a strong  resemblance  with 
those  of  Pangloss  and  the  unhappy  Baron  Jesuit,  Miss  Cunegund’s  brother. 
This  idea  affected  him  with  grief  and  compassion:  he  examined  them  more 
attentively  than  before. 

“In  troth,”  said  he,  turning  to  Martin,  “if  I had  not  seen  my  master  Pangloss 
fairly  hanged,  and  had  not  myself  been  unlucky  enough  to  run  the  Baron 
through  the  body,  I could  believe  these  are  they  rowing  in  the  galley.” 

No  sooner  had  Candide  uttered  the  names  of  the  Baron  and  Pangloss  than 
the  two  slaves  gave  a great  cry,  ceased  rowing,  and  let  fall  their  oars  out  of  their 
hands.  The  master  of  the  vessel,  seeing  this,  ran  up  to  them,  and  redoubled 
the  discipline  of  the  lash. 

“Hold,  hold,"  cried  Candide,  “I  will  give  you  what  money  you  ask  for 
these  two  persons.” 

“Good  heavens!  it  is  Candide,”  said  one  of  the  men. 

“Candide!”  cried  the  other. 

“Do  I dream,”  said  Candide,  “or  am  I awake?  Am  I actually  on  board  this 
galley?  Is  this  my  lord  Baron,  whom  I killed?  and  that  my  master  Pangloss, 
whom  I saw  hanged?” 

“It  is  I!  it  is  I!”  cried  they  both  together. 

“What!  is  this  your  great  philosopher?”  said  Martin. 

“My  dear  Sir,”  said  Candide  to  the  master  of  the  galley,  “how  much  do 
you  ask  for  the  ransom  of  the  Baron  of  Thunder-ten-tronckh,  who  is  one  of  the 
first  barons  of  the  empire,  and  of  Mr.  Pangloss,  the  most  profound  meta- 
physician in  Germany?” 

“Why  then,  Christian  cur,”  replied  the  Turkish  captain,  “since  these  two 
dogs  of  Christian  slaves  are  barons  and  metaphysicians,  who  no  doubt  are  of 
high  rank  in  their  own  country,  thou  shalt  give  me  fifty  thousand  sequins.” 

“You  shall  have  them,  Sir:  carry  me  back  as  quick  as  thought  to  Constan- 
tinople, and  you  shall  receive  the  money  immediately.  No!  carry  me  first  to 
Miss  Cunegund.” 

The  captain,  upon  Candide’s  first  proposal,  had  already  tacked  about,  and 

109 


he  made  the  crew  apply  their  oars  so  effectively  that  the  vessel  flew  through  the 
water  quicker  than  a bird  cleaves  the  air. 

Candide  bestowed  a thousand  embraces  on  the  Baron  and  Pangloss. 

“And  so  then,  my  dear  Baron,  I did  not  kill  you?  and  you,  my  dear  Pangloss, 
are  come  to  life  again  after  your  hanging?  But  how  came  you  slaves  on  board  a 
Turkish  galley?” 

“And  is  it  true  that  my  dear  sister  is  in  this  country?”  said  the  Baron. 

“Yes,”  said  Cacambo. 

“And  do  I once  again  behold  my  dear  Candide?”  said  Pangloss. 

Candide  presented  Martin  and  Cacambo  to  them;  they  embraced  each 
other,  and  all  spoke  together.  The  galley  flew  like  lightning,  and  now  they 
were  got  back  to  the  port.  Candide  instantly  sent  for  a Jew,  to  whom  he  sold 
for  fifty  thousand  sequins  a diamond  richly  worth  one  hundred  thousand, 
though  the  fellow  swore  to  him  all  the  time,  by  Abraham,  that  he  gave  him 
the  most  he  could  possibly  afford.  He  no  sooner  got  the  money  into  his  hands 
than  he  paid  it  down  for  the  ransom  of  the  Baron  and  Pangloss.  The  latter 
flung  himself  at  the  feet  of  his  deliverer,  and  bathed  him  with  his  tears:  the 
former  thanked  him  with  a gracious  nod,  and  promised  to  return  him  the  money 
at  the  first  opportunity. 

“But  is  it  possible,”  said  he,  “that  my  sister  should  be  in  Turkey?” 

“Nothing  is  more  possible,”  answered  Cacambo;  “for  she  scours  the  dishes 
in  the  house  of  a Transylvanian  prince.” 

Candide  sent  directly  for  two  Jews,  and  sold  more  diamonds  to  them;  and 
then  he  set  out  with  his  companions  in  another  galley,  to  deliver  Cunegund 
from  slavery. 


1 10 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


W hat  Befell  Candide,  Cunegund,  Pangloss,  Martin,  &c. 

“Pardon,”  said  Candide  to  the  Baron;  “once  more  let  me  intreat  your  pardon. 
Reverend  Father,  for  running  you  through  the  body.” 

“Say  no  more  about  it,”  replied  the  Baron;  “I  was  a little  too  hasty  I must 
own:  but  as  you  seem  to  be  anxious  to  know  by  what  accident  I came  to  be  a 
slave  on  board  the  galley  where  you  saw  me,  1 will  inform  you.  After  I had 
been  cured  of  the  wound  you  gave  me,  by  the  apothecary  of  the  College,  I was 
attacked  and  carried  off  by  a party  of  Spanish  troops,  who  clapped  me  up  in 
prison  in  Buenos  Ayres,  at  the  very  time  my  sister  was  setting  out  from  there. 
I asked  leave  to  return  to  Rome,  to  the  general  of  my  Order,  who  appointed 
me  chaplain  to  the  French  Ambassador  at  Constantinople.  I had  not  been  a 
week  in  my  new  office,  when  I happened  to  meet  one  evening  with  a young 
Icoglan,  extremely  handsome  and  well  made.  The  weather  was  very  hot;  the 
young  man  had  an  inclination  to  bathe.  I took  the  opportunity  to  bathe  like- 
wise. I did  not  know  it  was  a crime  for  a Christian  to  be  found  naked  in  com- 
pany with  a young  Turk.  A cadi  ordered  me  to  receive  a hundred  blows  on 
the  soles  of  my  feet,  and  sent  me  to  the  galleys.  I do  not  believe  that  there  was 
ever  an  act  of  more  flagrant  injustice.  But  I would  fain  know  how  my  sister  came 
to  be  a scullion  to  a Transylvanian  prince  who  has  taken  refuge  among  the 
Turks?” 

“But  how  happens  it  that  I behold  you  again,  my  dear  Pangloss?”  said  Can- 
dide. 

“It  is  true,”  answered  Pangloss,  “you  saw  me  hanged,  though  I ought  prop- 
erly to  have  been  burnt;  but  you  may  remember  that  it  rained  extremely  hard 
when  they  were  going  to  roast  me.  The  storm  was  so  violent  that  they  found 
it  impossible  to  light  the  fire;  so  they  hanged  me  because  they  could  do  no 
better.  A surgeon  purchased  my  body,  carried  it  home,  and  prepared  to  dissect 

1 1 1 


me.  He  began  by  making  a crucial  incision  from  my  navel  to  the  clavicle.  It  is 
impossible  for  any  one  to  have  been  more  lamely  hanged  than  I had  been.  The 
executioner  of  the  Holy  Inquisition  was  a subdeacon,  and  knew  how  to  burn 
people  very  well,  but  as  for  hanging,  he  was  a novice  at  it,  being  quite  out  of 
the  way  of  his  practice;  the  cord  being  wet,  and  not  slipping  properly,  the  noose 
did  not  join.  In  short,  I still  continued  to  breathe;  the  crucial  incision  made 
me  scream  to  such  a degree  that  my  surgeon  fell  flat  upon  his  back;  and  imagin- 
ing it  was  the  devil  he  was  dissecting,  ran  away,  and  in  his  fright  tumbled 
downstairs.  His  wife  hearing  the  noise  flew  from  the  next  room,  and,  seeing 
me  stretched  upon  the  table  with  my  crucial  incision,  was  still  more  terrified 
than  her  husband.  She  took  to  her  heels  and  fell  over  him.  When  they  had  a 
little  recovered  themselves,  I heard  her  say  to  her  husband,  ‘My  dear,  how 
could  you  think  of  dissecting  an  heretic?  Don’t  you  know  that  the  devil  is 
always  in  them?  I’ll  run  directly  to  a priest  to  come  and  drive  the  evil  spirit 
out.’  I trembled  from  head  to  foot  at  hearing  her  talk  in  this  manner,  and 
exerted  what  little  strength  I had  left  to  cry  out,  ‘Have  mercy  on  me!’  At  length 
the  Portuguese  barber  took  courage,  sewed  up  my  wound,  and  his  wife  nursed 
me;  and  I was  upon  my  legs  in  a fortnight’s  time.  The  barber  got  me  a place 
as  lackey  to  a Knight  of  Malta  who  was  going  to  Venice;  but  finding  my  master 
had  no  money  to  pay  me  my  wages,  I entered  into  the  service  of  a Venetian 
merchant,  and  went  with  him  to  Constantinople. 

“One  day  I happened  to  enter  a mosque,  where  I saw  no  one  but  an  old 
imam  and  a very  pretty  young  female  devotee,  who  was  saying  her  prayers;  her 
neck  was  quite  bare,  and  in  her  bosom  she  had  a beautiful  nosegay  of  tulips, 
roses,  anemones,  ranunculuses,  hyacinths,  and  auriculas.  She  let  fall  her  nose- 
gay. I ran  immediately  to  take  it  up,  and  presented  it  to  her  with  a most 
respectful  bow.  I was  so  long  in  delivering  it,  that  the  imam  began  to  be  angry; 
and,  perceiving  I was  a Christian,  he  cried  out  for  help;  they  carried  me  before 
the  cadi,  who  ordered  me  to  receive  one  hundred  bastinadoes,  and  sent  me  to 
the  galleys.  I was  chained  in  the  very  galley,  and  to  the  very  same  bench  with 
my  lord  the  Baron.  On  board  this  galley  there  were  four  young  men  belonging 
to  Marseilles,  five  Neapolitan  priests,  and  two  monks  of  Corfu,  who  told  us 
that  the  like  adventures  happened  every  day.  The  Baron  pretended  that  he  had 
been  worse  used  than  myself;  and  I insisted  that  there  was  far  less  harm  in 
taking  up  a nosegay,  and  putting  it  into  a woman’s  bosom,  than  to  be  found 
stark  naked  with  a young  Icoglan.  We  were  continually  in  dispute,  and  received 


112 


twenty  lashes  a day  with  a thong,  when  the  concatenation  of  sublunary  events 
brought  you  on  board  our  galley  to  ransom  us  from  slavery.” 

“Well,  my  dear  Pangloss,”  said  Candide  to  him,  “when  you  were  hanged, 
dissected,  whipped,  and  tugging  at  the  oar,  did  you  continue  to  think  that  every 
thing  in  this  world  happens  for  the  best?” 

“I  have  always  abided  by  my  first  opinion,”  answered  Pangloss;  “for,  after 
all,  I am  a philosopher;  and  it  would  not  become  me  to  retract  my  sentiments; 
especially,  as  Leibnitz  could  not  be  in  the  wrong;  and  that  pre-established  har- 
mony is  the  finest  thing  in  the  world,  as  well  as  the  plenum  and  the  materia 
sub  fill's.” 


CHAPTER  XXIX 


In  W hat  Manner  Candide  Found  Cunegund  and  the  Old  Woman  Again 

While  Candide,  the  Baron,  Pangloss,  Martin,  and  Cacambo  were  relating  their 
several  adventures,  and  reasoning  on  the  contingent  or  non-contingent  events 
of  this  world;  while  they  were  disputing  on  causes  and  effects,  on  moral  and 
physical  evil,  on  free  wall  and  necessity,  and  on  the  consolation  that  may  be 
felt  by  a person  when  a slave  and  chained  to  an  oar  in  a Turkish  galley,  they 
arrived  at  the  house  of  the  Transylvanian  prince  on  the  coasts  of  the  Propontis. 
The  first  objects  they  beheld  there  were  Miss  Cunegund  and  the  old  woman, 
who  were  hanging  some  table-cloths  on  a line  to  dry. 

The  Baron  turned  pale  at  the  sight.  Even  the  tender  Candide,  that  affec- 
tionate lover,  upon  seeing  his  fair  Cunegund  all  sun-burnt,  with  blear  eyes,  a 
withered  neck,  wrinkled  face  and  arms,  all  covered  with  a red  scurf,  started 
back  with  horror;  but,  recovering  himself,  he  advanced  towards  her  out  of  good 
manners.  She  embraced  Candide  and  her  brother;  they  embraced  the  old 
woman,  and  Candide  ransomed  them  both. 

There  was  a small  farm  in  the  neighbourhood,  which  the  old  woman  pro- 
posed to  Candide  to  make  a shift  with  till  the  company  should  meet  with  a 
more  favourable  destiny.  Cunegund,  not  knowing  that  she  was  grown  ugly, 
as  no  one  had  informed  her  of  it,  reminded  Candide  of  his  promise  in  so 
peremptory  a manner  that  the  simple  lad  did  not  dare  to  refuse  her;  he  then 
acquainted  the  Baron  that  he  was  going  to  marry  his  sister. 

“I  will  never  suffer,”  said  the  Baron,  “my  sister  to  be  guilty  of  an  action  so 
derogatory  to  her  birth  and  family;  nor  will  I bear  this  insolence  on  your  part: 
no,  I never  will  be  reproached  that  my  nephews  are  not  qualified  for  the  first 
ecclesiastical  dignities  in  Germany;  nor  shall  a sister  of  mine  ever  be  the  wife 
of  any  person  below  the  rank  of  a baron  of  the  Empire.” 

“4 


Cunegund  flung  herself  at  her  brother’s  feet,  and  bedewed  them  with  her 
tears,  but  he  still  continued  inflexible. 

“Thou  foolish  fellow,”  said  Candide,  “have  I not  delivered  thee  from  the 
galleys,  paid  thy  ransom,  and  thy  sister’s  too  who  was  a scullion,  and  is  very 
ugly,  and  yet  I condescend  to  marry  her?  and  shalt  thou  make  claim  to  oppose 
the  match?  If  I were  to  listen  only  to  the  dictates  of  my  anger,  I should  kill 
thee  again.” 

“Thou  mayest  kill  me  again,”  said  the  Baron,  “but  thou  shalt  not  marry 
my  sister  while  I am  living.” 


n5 


CHAPTER  XXX 


Conclusion 

Candide  had,  in  truth,  no  great  inclination  to  marry  Cunegund;  but  the  extreme 
impertinence  of  the  baron  determined  him  to  conclude  the  match;  and  Cune- 
gund pressed  him  so  warmly  that  he  could  not  recant.  He  consulted  Pangloss, 
Martin,  and  the  faithful  Cacambo.  Pangloss  composed  a fine  memorial,  by 
which  he  proved  that  the  Baron  had  no  right  over  his  sister;  and  that  she 
might,  according  to  all  the  laws  of  the  Empire,  marry  Candide  with  the 
left  hand.  Martin  concluded  that  they  should  throw  the  Baron  into  the  sea: 
Cacambo  decided  that  he  must  be  delivered  to  the  Turkish  captain  and  sent 
to  the  galleys;  after  which  he  should  be  conveyed  by  the  first  ship  to  the 
Father  General  at  Rome.  This  advice  was  found  to  be  very  good;  the  old 
woman  approved  of  it,  and  not  a syllable  was  said  to  his  sister;  the  business 
1 16 


was  executed  for  a little  money:  and  they  had  the  pleasure  of  tricking  a Jesuit 
and  punishing  the  pride  of  a German  baron. 

It  was  altogether  natural  to  imagine  that  after  undergoing  so  many  disasters, 
Candide  married  to  his  mistress,  and  living  with  the  philosopher  Pangloss,  the 
philosopher  Martin,  the  prudent  Cacambo,  and  the  old  woman,  having  besides 
brought  home  so  many  diamonds  from  the  country  of  the  ancient  Incas,  would 
lead  the  most  agreeable  life  in  the  world.  But  he  had  been  so  much  cheated 
by  the  Jews  that  he  had  nothing  else  left  but  his  little  farm;  his  wife,  every  day 
growing  more  and  more  ugly,  became  ill-natured  and  insupportable;  the  old 
woman  was  infirm,  and  more  bad-tempered  yet  than  Cunegund.  Cacambo, 
who  worked  in  the  garden,  and  carried  the  produce  of  it  to  sell  at  Constan- 
tinople, was  past  his  labour,  and  cursed  his  fate.  Pangloss  despaired  of  making 
a figure  in  any  of  the  German  universities.  And  as  to  Martin,  he  was  firmly 
persuaded  that  a person  is  equally  ill-situated  everywhere.  He  took  things  with 
patience.  Candide,  Martin,  and  Pangloss  disputed  sometimes  about  meta- 
physics and  morality.  Boats  were  often  seen  passing  under  the  windows  of  the 
farm  fraught  with  effendis,  pashas,  and  cadis,  that  were  going  into  banishment 
to  Lemnos,  Mytilene,  and  Erzeroum.  And  other  cadis,  pashas,  and  effendis 
were  seen  coming  back  to  succeed  the  place  of  the  exiles,  and  were  driven  out 
in  their  turns.  They  saw  several  heads  very  curiously  stuffed  with  straw,  being 
carried  as  presents  to  the  Sublime  Porte.  Such  sights  gave  occasion  to  frequent 
dissertations;  and  when  no  disputes  were  carried  on,  the  irksomeness  was  so 
excessive  that  the  old  woman  ventured  one  day  to  say  to  them  : 

“I  would  be  glad  to  know  which  is  worst,  to  be  ravished  a hundred  times 
by  negro  pirates,  to  have  one  buttock  cut  off,  to  run  the  gauntlet  among  the 
Bulgarians,  to  be  whipped  and  hanged  at  an  auto-da-fé,  to  be  dissected,  to  be 
chained  to  an  oar  in  a galley,  and  in  short  to  experience  all  the  miseries  through 
which  every  one  of  us  hath  passed,— or  to  remain  here  doing  nothing?” 

“This,”  said  Candide,  “is  a big  question.” 

This  discourse  gave  birth  to  new  reflections,  and  Martin  especially  con- 
cluded that  man  was  born  to  live  in  the  convulsions  of  disquiet,  or  in  the  lethargy 
of  idleness.  Though  Candide  did  not  absolutely  agree  to  this;  yet  he  was  sure 
of  nothing.  Pangloss  avowed  that  he  had  undergone  dreadful  sufferings;  but 
having  once  maintained  that  everything  went  on  as  well  as  possible,  he  still 
maintained  it,  and  at  the  same  time  believed  nothing  of  it. 

There  was  one  thing  which,  more  than  ever,  confirmed  Martin  in  his 

ll7 


detestable  principles,  made  Candide  hesitate,  and  embarrassed  Pangloss.  This 
was  the  arrival  of  Pacquette  and  Friar  Giroflée  one  day  at  their  farm.  This 
couple  had  been  in  the  utmost  distress;  they  had  very  speedily  made  away  with 
their  three  thousand  piastres;  they  had  parted,  been  reconciled;  quarrelled 
again,  been  thrown  into  prison;  had  made  their  escape,  and  at  last  Brother 
Giroflée  turned  Turk.  Pacquette  still  continued  to  follow  her  trade  wherever 
she  came;  but  she  got  little  or  nothing  by  it. 

“I  foresaw  very  well,”  said  Martin  to  Candide,  “that  your  presents  would 
soon  be  squandered,  and  only  make  them  more  miserable.  You  and  Cacambo 
have  spent  millions  of  piastres,  and  yet  you  are  not  more  happy  than  Brother 
Giroflée  and  Pacquette.” 

“Ah!”  said  Pangloss  to  Pacquette.  “It  is  heaven  who  has  brought  you  here 
among  us,  my  poor  child!  Do  you  know  that  you  have  cost  me  the  tip  of  my 
nose,  one  eye,  and  one  ear?  What  a handsome  shape  is  here!  and  what  is  this 
world!” 

This  new  adventure  engaged  them  more  deeply  than  ever  in  philosophical 
disputations. 

In  the  neighbourhood  lived  a very  famous  dervish,  who  passed  for  the  best 
philosopher  in  Turkey;  him  they  went  to  consult:  Pangloss,  who  was  their 
spokesman,  addressed  him  thus: 

“Master,  we  come  to  intreat  you  to  tell  us  why  so  strange  an  animal  as  man 
has  been  formed?” 

“Why  do  you  trouble  your  head  about  it?”  said  the  dervish.  “Is  it  any 
business  of  yours?” 

“But,  my  Reverend  Father,”  said  Candide,  “there  is  a horrible  deal  of  evil 
on  the  earth.” 

“What  signifies  it,”  said  the  dervish,  “whether  there  is  evil  or  good?  When 
his  Highness  sends  a ship  to  Egypt,  does  he  trouble  his  head  whether  the  rats 
in  the  vessel  are  at  their  ease  or  not?” 

“What  must  then  be  done?”  said  Pangloss. 

“Be  silent,”  answered  the  dervish. 

“I  flattered  myself,”  replied  Pangloss,  “that  we  should  have  the  pleasure 
of  arguing  with  you  on  causes  and  effects,  on  the  best  of  possible  worlds,  the 
origin  of  evil,  the  nature  of  the  soul,  and  the  pre-established  harmony.” 

At  these  words  the  dervish  shut  the  door  in  their  faces. 

During  this  conversation,  news  was  spread  abroad  that  two  viziers  of  the 
118 


bench  and  the  mufti  had  just  been  strangled  at  Constantinople,  and  several 
of  their  friends  impaled.  This  catastrophe  made  a great  noise  for  some  hours. 
Pangloss,  Candide,  and  Martin,  as  they  were  returning  to  the  little  farm,  met 
with  a good-looking  old  man,  who  was  taking  the  air  at  his  door,  under  an 
alcove  formed  of  orange-trees.  Pangloss,  who  was  as  inquisitive  as  he  was  argu- 
mentative, asked  him  what  was  the  name  of  the  mufti  who  was  lately  strangled. 

I cannot  tell/’  answered  the  good  old  man;  “I  never  knew  the  name  of  any 
mufti  or  vizier  breathing.  I am  entirely  ignorant  of  the  event  you  speak  of;  I 
presume,  that  in  general,  such  as  are  concerned  in  public  affairs  sometimes  come 
to  a miserable  end;  and  that  they  deserve  it:  but  I never  inquire  what  is  hap- 
pening at  Constantinople;  I am  content  with  sending  thither  the  produce  of 
the  garden  which  I cultivate.” 

After  saying  these  words,  he  invited  the  strangers  to  come  into  his  house. 
His  two  daughters  and  two  sons  presented  them  with  diverse  sorts  of  iced 
sherbet  of  their  own  making;  besides  cayrnac,  heightened  with  the  peel  of 
candied  citrons,  oranges,  lemons,  pine-apples,  pistachio-nuts,  and  Mocha  coffee 
unadulterated  with  the  bad  coffee  of  Batavia  or  the  West  Indies.  After  which 
the  two  daughters  of  this  good  mussulman  perfumed  the  beards  of  Candide, 
Pangloss,  and  Martin. 

“You  must  certainly  have  a vast  estate,”  said  Candide  to  the  Turk. 

“I  have  no  more  than  twenty  acres  of  ground,”  he  replied,  “the  whole  of 
which  I cultivate  myself  with  the  help  of  my  children;  and  our  labour  keeps 
off  from  us  three  great  evils,  idleness,  vice,  and  want.” 

Candide,  as  he  was  returning  home,  made  profound  reflections  on  the 
Turk’s  discourse. 

“This  good  old  man,”  he  said  to  Pangloss  and  Martin,  “appears  to  me  to 
have  chosen  for  himself  a lot  much  preferable  to  that  of  the  six  kings  with 
whom  we  had  the  honour  to  sup.” 

“Human  grandeur,”  said  Pangloss,  “is  very  dangerous,  if  we  believe  the 
testimonies  of  almost  all  philosophers;  for  we  find  Eglon,  King  of  the  Moabites, 
was  assassinated  by  Ehud;  Absalom  was  hanged  by  the  hair  of  his  head,  and 
run  through  with  three  darts;  King  Nadab,  son  of  Jeroboam,  was  slain  by 
Baasha;  King  Elah  by  Zimri;  Aliaziah  by  Jehu;  Athaliah  by  Jehoiada;  the  Kings 
Jehoiakim,  Jechoniah,  and  Zedekiah  were  led  into  captivity:  I need  not  tell 
you  what  was  the  fate  of  Croesus,  Astyages,  Darius,  Dionysius  of  Syracuse, 
Pyrrhus,  Perseus,  Hannibal,  Jugurtha,  Ariovistus,  Caesar,  Pompey,  Nero,  Otho, 

n9 


Vitellius,  Domitian,  Richard  II  of  England,  Edward  II,  Henry  VI,  Richard  III, 
Mary  Stuart,  Charles  I,  the  three  Henrys  of  France,  and  the  Emperor 
Henry  IV.” 

“Neither  need  you  tell  me,”  said  Candide,  “that  we  must  take  care  of  our 
garden.” 

“You  are  in  the  right,”  said  Pangloss;  “for  when  man  was  put  into  the 
Garden  of  Eden,  it  was  with  an  intent  to  dress  it:  and  this  proves  that  man 
was  not  born  to  be  idle.” 

“Work  then  without  disputing,”  said  Martin;  “it  is  the  only  way  to  render 
life  supportable.” 

The  little  society,  one  and  all,  entered  into  this  laudable  design;  and  set 
themselves  to  exert  their  different  talents.  The  little  piece  of  ground  yielded 
them  a plentiful  crop.  Cunegund  indeed  was  very  ugly,  but  she  became  an 
excellent  hand  at  pastry-work;  Pacquette  embroidered;  the  old  woman  had  the 
care  of  the  linen.  There  was  none,  down  to  Brother  Giroflée,  but  did  some 
service;  he  was  a very  good  carpenter,  and  became  an  honest  man.  Pangloss 
used  now  and  then  to  say  to  Candide: 

“There  is  a concatenation  of  all  events  in  the  best  of  possible  worlds;  for, 
in  short,  had  you  not  been  kicked  out  of  a fine  castle  by  the  backside  for  the 
love  of  Miss  Cunegund,  had  you  not  been  put  into  the  Inquisition,  had  you 
not  travelled  over  America  on  foot,  had  you  not  run  the  Baron  through  the 
body,  and  had  you  not  lost  all  your  sheep  which  you  brought  from  the  good 
country  of  El  Dorado,  you  would  not  have  been  here  to  eat  preserved  citrons 
and  pistachio-nuts.” 

“Excellently  observed,”  answered  Candide;  “but  let  us  take  care  of  our 
garden.” 


120 


This  edition  of  Voltaire's  Candide  with  twenty-six  illustrations  by  Paul  Klee  is 
limited  to  625  copies.  It  was  designed  by  Stefan  Salter  and  printed  and  bound  by 
H.  Wolff,  New  York.  Copies  1 to  50  are  accompanied  by  two  sets  of  separate 
prints  of  the  illustrations  and  bound  by  hand  by  Gerhard  Gerlach,  New  York. 


